


Dead Men Walking

by orphan_account



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Inquisitor, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Depression, Fluff, Grief/Mourning, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Timeline Shenanigans, asshole!Inquisitor, character death but not really, i apologize in advance for halamshiral
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-26
Updated: 2016-02-16
Packaged: 2018-04-05 02:40:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 25,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4162554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inquisitor Trevelyan demands absolute order and obedience in the face of the apocalypse, and punishes all who dare object. However, Dorian Pavus was never one to play by other's rules, even though dear Trevelyan doesn't take kindly to insubordination.</p><p>Dorian decides to put Skyhold on his heels. Trevelyan decides that Dorian is better off dead than a deserter.</p><p>A fight to the death between them leads to Dorian waking up unknowingly on his own grave.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. What This World Cannot Offer

If Dorian had known the Inquisitor would be the most cold-hearted ass outside of the Imperium, he'd have left Haven to the Venatori and found a nice place to settle down to watch the end of the world unfold.

When he had a chance to actually speak to the Inquisitor, actually _talk_ with him, Dorian found him... unsettling.

“Am I supposed to be amused?” he'd asked Dorian, face expressionless at Dorian's incredibly apt description of the events at Haven.

So Trevelyan had no sense of humor. Interesting.

He did, however, have a terrifying presence. Trevelyan entered every room like winter, cold and inescapable. Meeting his gaze was like staring into the Breach. You felt helpless, on the edge of falling into it, hoping you could turn away before it rained destruction down.

“I respect Corypheus,” Trevelyan said once, hands clasped behind him, looking out the window onto the field where the Templars trained. “He seeks to restore order to a chaos-ridden world. His way, however, leads only to more chaos. His madness makes his end impossible. In this, he fails. I will end him, and only then can true order begin.”

“And, what, you'll bring order order about?” Dorian had asked.

Trevelyan didn't bother looking at him. “Yes,” he said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Mages and Templars are both mad. A mad dog must be put down. Without diligence, without complete control of their powers, they're both as good as rabid mutts.”

So the Inquisitor razed his enemies to the dust of the earth, and spared little attention to those caught in the middle. His utter disdain for the Wardens caused no end of quarrel with his advisors, but even they dared not argue. No one escaped his judgement, no one questioned his executions, and no one commented on his orders for the rites of Tranquility.

The fact was simple. It didn't matter if one agreed or disagreed. The iron fist of the Inquisition hung over everyone. The first time Dorian called out Trevelyan on his bullshit in public, Trevelyan dragged him into a back room and warned him, in a hair-raising tone, to never do that again. 

“We must present a unified front,” Trevelyan said, his expression blank. “When you question me, you make the entire Inquisition out to be a fool. I won't have you or anyone else fracture that image. Order is everything.”

Then he'd stalked out, not bothering to listen to Dorian's arguments.

So of course, Dorian did it again. He certainly wasn't going to let something like a little warning alter his behaviour. He found out very quickly that the Inquisitor backed up his threats, and with force.

That in and of itself was enough to make one decide they'd worn out their welcome. Dorian, however, wasn't to be accused of letting something like Trevelyan's ire keep him from speaking his mind.

Then Sera left.

Sera talked to him beforehand. They'd bonded over their mutual dislike of Trevelyan and his methods from the beginning, and Dorian found himself growing fond of her and her 'fuck the establisment' mindset. He found it immensely refreshing.

“I'm not sticking around for Lord Too-Big-For-His-Britches to burn me again,” she'd said, throwing her stuff into bags. “He's all 'blurh blurh blurh, I'm so full of myself.' I'm taking whatever shite he's got lying around and then I'm takin his fanciest horse and leaving first light, yeah? You coming with?”

Dorian didn't know what made him hesitate. Maybe it was the fact that he still thought he could do good, or maybe he simply didn't want Mother Giselle to have the satisfaction of seeing him leave.

“I've got to try, at least for a little longer,” he said, with a small smile. “You know me. Don't know when to quit.”

She hugged him then, something rare in itself, and when she pulled away he saw her eyes glistening.

“Well, when you get around to ditchin this place, lemme know,” she told him, wiping her eyes. “Orlais, we've got lots of people around. Don't have to go running off into the wilds. I bet you'd be real good at putting snotty nobles in their place. Bet you'd make a decent Jenny.”

He hadn't expected that. “Well, I suppose I would look ravishing in red,” he said. “Thank you, Sera. I'm touched.”

“I know you'd like to stick it to the man,” said Sera, then she cackled. “Get it? Stick it to the man?”

“Well, someone has to make up for you,” Dorian said with a small smile.

Sera giggled again. “Seriously, if you're not running back to land of evil magisters, look me up in Orlais.”

“I won't forget,” he replied. He didn't want her to leave, but he certainly wasn't going to fault her for it. “I'm sure we'll meet again. Hopefully without the world-ending demons, as they are.”

She saluted him, a saucy thing with more sass than actual salute. “I'll be seein you around then. Don't let him get you down.”

True to her word, she stole no small amount of valuables from Trevelyan's personal quarters and took his favorite horse. Seeing the Inquisitor reduced to riding a fussy dracolisk was immensely satisfying.

The final straw was the notable absence of Cole, and the worst part was that the Inquisitor didn't even remember him. If Cole decided he didn't want someone like Trevelyan following him, then Dorian felt inclined to take his lead.

Varric seemed determined to stay and see this through, and Solas hated the Inquisitor but made no move to leave. Bull, of course, hadn't been the same since the Storm Coast. Or Hissrad, whatever he was calling himself now. Cassandra just drank her problems away these days, so it was useless to try and talk to her about anything. Vivienne, along with Hissrad, supported Trevelyan and the order he sought. Whatever they thought, Dorian wasn't going to stay and be a part of this any longer. They might have been able to ignore this, but Dorian couldn't. _Wouldn't_.

He'd been planning on leaving. Waiting, watching, feeling out the situation until he could leave unnoticed. Of course, Trevelyan dragged him out to the Exalted Plains to gain alliances with Gaspard's armies, and Dorian's first plans fell through.

Dorian made no effort to speak to anyone, as it wasn't necessary. He'd be gone soon anyways, so what did it matter if Varric was attempting overtures of friendship? Not that Varric wouldn't have made a decent friend, but Dorian wasn't staying.

Hissrad, of course, noticed.

Initially, Hissrad simply watched as Dorian ate in silence, not bothering to comment on the hideous nature of whatever gruel they'd scraped up in the undead-infested wasteland that was the Exalted plains. Dorian knew he was being watched, of course. He wasn't stupid. Yet Hissrad continued to watch, both day and night, as Dorian waited for their return to Skyhold.

“Oddly quiet, aren't we?” Hissrad asked one night as he sharpened his axe.

Dorian raised an eyebrow. “Did you prefer our witty banter? I'm afraid I've lost interest.”

Hissrad shrugged. “Just making an observation, Dorian. Either you're planning something, or you're moping, and moping doesn't seem your type.”

Dorian managed to keep his composure, and idly straightened his clothes. “Yes, well, there's more than enough reason to grieve for friends lost. Someone has to mourn the dead, after all.” He met Hissrad's gaze. “I don't see anyone else doing it.”

Hissrad's eye narrowed, and he went back to sharpening his axe. “Deflect all you want, Dorian. I'm not stupid.”

The rest of their trip could only be described as deeply uncomfortable, and it just served to harden Dorian's resolve. They returned to Skyhold with another underhanded alliance to a power-hungry noble, and Dorian began to plan.

One day, he quietly gathered his things, and began packing. Fortunately, he hadn't bothered to make himself at home in Skyhold, so everything was more or less ready to go.

And then, Trevelyan.

“Finally decided to join the Venatori?” he asked, and Dorian spun around to face him. Trevelyan stood in the doorway to Dorian's room, hands linked behind his back.

“I rather think not,” Dorian snapped. “I know you don't tend to remember things that other people say, but I have been quite clear that I'm not fond of their methods. I'm also not fond of you, so I'm taking my leave of all of it. Maybe I'll find a nice cottage somewhere and take up knitting.”

Trevelyan's eyes narrowed. “Tevinters get so upset when they don't get the power they think they deserve,” he replied. “A serious character flaw.”

Dorian laughed. “Are you projecting? I haven't seen anyone else around here punishing people for speaking their minds in public. But I'm sure you'll get on just fine without me. Let's face it, Inquisitor, you never much cared for me or my opinions. I say we part ways and ignore each other like Orlesians ignore Fereldans.”

“We've lost enough members. Any more and we start to look like we can't handle our own people,” Trevelyan said, taking a step into the room and closing the door behind him.

Dorian felt a chill go down his spine. He could see the flicker of lightning dancing over Trevelyan's fingertips, backlit by the glow of the Mark. Gritting his teeth, Dorian stood his ground. He'd be damned if he let Trevelyan intimidate him, no matter what he was capable of.

“I think if you try that again, I'm not sure it'll be worth your time,” Dorian said, keeping his voice light.

“Are you going to fight me?” Trevelyan asked, voice low. “A fight you know you won't win?”

“Better than sticking around to play the part of your loyal puppet,” Dorian snarled, his fingers twitching toward his staff. “If I wouldn't do that for my father, what makes you think I'd do it for you?”

“You should do it for the greater good,” Trevelyan told him.

Dorian couldn't believe this. “You're completely mad. You let refugees starve, you abandon people to undead and disease, you banish the Wardens from the South and you order anyone who disagrees with you killed or made Tranquil. And you tell me I should sit back and twiddle my thumbs and hum loudly to drown out all the despair? I think not.”

“Then _I_ think,” Trevelyan said, his words measured and even like careful blocks laid out in a perfect line, “you cannot be permitted to leave.”

Dorian brought up his barrier a split second before Trevelyan called his lightning down.

He lashed out with fire, but the Inquisitor never even blinked, not even when his sleeves began to smoulder.

“Better dead than deserted,” Trevelyan said, in that perfect even tone. He dispelled Dorian's shield and let loose a barrage of static.

“I rather like being alive, thank you very much,” Dorian snapped back. He couldn't use much flame, not here, not indoors, but a wall of frost worked just as well a defense as a wall of fire.

Trevelyan might have had the Mark boosting his powers, but Dorian was the superior mage, and the more wrath the Inquisitor sent his way, the faster Dorian sent his own back. 

However, it only took one slip to end it, and one of Trevelyan's arcs of electric fury seared through Dorian's left arm, and he cried out. Trevelyan swept forward, his Mark bursting to life, and lifted his arm to rip Dorian to shreds with it.

Dorian wasn't through, and he certainly wasn't to be ended like _this_.

He unleashed _terror_ on the Inquisitor, and as the man faltered, Dorian used his haste magic to boost his steps toward the door. Forget his bags, he'd little that couldn't be replaced anyways.

An unearthly snarl rose behind him, and the room exploded into the sickly green of the rift. Turning, Dorian could see Trevelyan's perfect composure fractured, teeth bared in rage. Just as Trevelyan's Mark flared again, Dorian sent another wave of terror his way, and everything _exploded_.

The Mark burst with a light stronger than Dorian had ever seen before, and he screwed his eyes shut, but not in time to avoid seeing the way the room began to tear apart. He could hear Trevelyan screaming, but it drained away from him until he could barely hear it. Then the world dropped from beneath his feet, and darkness.

He woke, suddenly, inexplicably, to trees.


	2. The Menace of Trees

He woke up surrounded by green. Even before he opened his eyes, he could see the green light filtering in through his eyelids, but not the green of the rift, just... _green_. When he sat up and finally looked around, all he could see were massive, endless trees. He sat in the middle of a forest, on a small path by a cliffside.

How in the world had he ended up here? Not that he was complaining, because being away from that tyrant was exactly what he wanted. Still, had the Mark influenced their magic enough to teleport them? Teleportation wasn't possible under the standard rules of magic, but then nothing about the Breach and the Mark was standard in the first place. 

The important thing was that if Trevelyan was nearby, Dorian needed to vacate the area as swiftly as possible. 

Once he stood up and looked around, he began to recognize his surroundings. He had to be in the Emerald Graves, that he was sure of. He'd only been here before once, so that... complicated things. It didn't help that he couldn't navigate through the wilderness to save his own soul, and with no supplies, things looked dire.

But Dorian Pavus never got anywhere by sitting on his marvelous ass and feeling sorry for himself, so into the forest of doom he marched, hoping he wouldn't starve to death or get mauled by bears.

And he immediately became lost.

To be fair, he was lost to begin with, so it was a short trip, but he found himself going in circles more than once. The small path led absolutely nowhere, which was just _so helpful_ , so he wound up wandering through the forest getting more and more frustrated. How the Dalish ever managed to navigate this place, he'd never understand. When he found himself by the same cliffside and the same tiny path going nowhere for the fourth time, he decided to just sit down and think.

As he rested by a tree and tried to come up with a plan, he saw something against the cliffside that he hadn't noticed before. A squared-off stone, tall as his waist, and smooth to the touch. A gravestone.

Of course, in a place named _the bloody Emerald Graves_ , that wasn't a surprise, but this was new, and someone had visited it, though not recently. Dried flowers lay on top of the stone, what had to be embrium. There was no name.

Well, that was morbid enough. Dorian stood up, brushed the dirt off his clothes, and decided to follow the cliffside.

Dorian took two steps before he heard rustling and footsteps. He jumped back against the cliffside, wondering if he had enough time to hide in the trees. With no staff, no form of defense, he'd have to rely on his own raw magic. He brought swirling flames into his palms, ready to burn the place to the ground if he had to.

And then they came into view, chest hair and crossbow and all.

“Varric?” Dorian couldn't believe it. His flames fizzled out. Varric had been back at Skyhold, but wasn't even in the room when the spell went odd. “How did you get here?”

Varric stopped dead, staring at Dorian like he'd just grown another head and started to shit darkspawn. "What?"

"Hmm, I must have lost some time," Dorian muttered, mostly to himself. "Only way for you to be here at the same time as myself. Time magic, perhaps? Ah, no matter. This is some manner of bizarre, I'll admit, but you wouldn't happen to know the way out, preferably avoiding any Inquisition forces? Maybe towards Orlais?"

Varric's expression grew more confused, which was impressive by anyone's standards. "What?" he asked again, almost helplessly.

Dorian sighed. This wasn't getting anyone anywhere. "Look, Varric-"

But he didn't have time to finish anything, not anymore, as a very familiar Qunari rounded the curve of the path, picking his way through the trees with an unnerving amount of grace. 

He'd be damned if he let Hissrad drag him back to the Inquisition. 

His Haste spell spun around him right as Hissrad saw him, mouth opening at the sight of Dorian. _Can't drag me back if he can't catch me_ , Dorian thought, and took off into the trees.

He could hear Hissrad crashing through the underbrush after him, but even a charging Qunari couldn't keep up with Dorian's magic. He sprinted through the forest, trying desperately to remember anything about the area that might get him away.

There, a tunnel. That is, Dorian remembered it being a tunnel, when Trevelyan told them they had to root out the Freemen. He dashed inside, then quickly found out no, this wasn't a tunnel at all, it was just another cave.

Good job, Dorian. Once again your sense of direction failed you.

He turned to leave, hoping that he'd been quick enough to give himself some time, but Hissrad was already running up to the entrance of the cave. Dorian slammed down fire runes at the entrance, wide enough to block anyone from getting in.

Hissrad slowed as he eyed the runes, then looked up at Dorian, who stood with fire in his hands and the last glow of the Haste spell fading from his body.

"What are you?" Hissrad asked, hand reaching towards the maul strapped to his back. Dorian blinked, because Hissrad rarely used a maul, preferring to cut down his opponents rather than smash through them.

"Me? Oh, well, at the moment I'm handsome mage trying to make a new life for himself, setting out into the sun with naught but the clothes on my back and a handful of dreams," Dorian replied. Did he inject enough sarcasm into his voice? He hoped so.

"You know that's not what I meant," Hissrad said, his eye narrowing. "How about we get all the pleasantries out of the way?"

"And here I thought we were _such good friends_ , frolicking through the undead and making flower crowns for each other." Dorian folded his arms. "How about we keep our distance from each other, hmm? Unless you'd like to lose a leg to a fire rune. I can oblige, if you wish."

Varric finally arrived, breathing heavily. He leaned forward, bracing his hands on his knees as he caught his breath.

"I'm glad I'm not the only one seeing him," Varric said, gesturing to Dorian.

"Yes, yes, it's me, in all my splendor and glory, now just shoo and let me go. I'd rather get out while I still have my chance," Dorian snapped.

“Out?” Hissrad snapped, eyes narrowing. “This what you calling 'out'?”

“Kaffas, yes, out,” Dorian replied, his hands curling into fists despite his intent to keep calm. “Just point me in the direction of the Inquisitor's forces and I'll happily walk the other way and we'll never have to see each other again and you can go back to the Inquisitor and hopefully tell him you never saw me.”

Varric almost dropped Bianca. “That's... definitely not what a demon would say,” he said, very slowly.

“Why the hell would you want to leave the boss?” Hissrad asked, and now he sounded like the Qunari Dorian knew, all hard edges and carefully concealed anger.

Dorian lowered his hands and glared at him. “Please, you've been watching me for weeks. I'm no fool.”

“What? What are you talking about?” Varric asked, and he looked just as confused as Dorian felt. He looked down at the runes. "If you're not a demon-"

"Why would I be a demon?" Dorian said, waving his hands.

Then there was Cole, appearing inside Dorian's runes and staring at Dorian with a terrifying amount of intensity.

Dorian jumped, because for one, _Cole wasn't supposed to be here_ , and two, _how did Cole even get here_.

But Cole didn't look confused or vengeful (even though he'd stopped saying much after the incident at the Storm Coast), just intent.

"This isn't right," Cole said, frustration rising in his voice. "I don't understand."

"Kid, is he a demon?" Varric asked. "I mean, this is all kinds of wrong."

"He's not a demon," Cole replied, staring into Dorian's eyes. "He's a different one."

Dorian leaned back as Cole squinted at him. "Yes, thanks, I'm not a demon, good job everyone! Your observational skills astound me again. You deserve medals, preferably ones that say ' _I haven't completely failed to notice the obvious_ ' engraved in gold."

"What do you mean, he's different?"

Cole let out a small huff. "A tree, but the same tree, but different trees. The same but they don't grow in the same place."

Varric sighed heavily. "We really need to work on your metaphors, kid."

"So he is Dorian?" Hissrad asked.

"Yes, I'm Dorian!" How had he gotten himself stuck in this loop? "Not a demon, not a very convincing illusion, I'm Dorian."

"You call him Hissrad in your head but he's not, hasn't been that in many years, doesn't like the name," Cole said, wringing his hands. "Everyone's different in your head. Angry and wistful and all gone. I'm there, but it's not me."

He looked up, and no, it wasn't the coldness and calculating assessment he was used to seeing on Hissrad's face. Just... Bull. Iron Bull before he changed and became something that made Dorian's skin crawl.

"All the stories in your head are wrong," Cole continued. "That's not how it happened. All the same trees in different places and some aren't there anymore, but they're here, the trees are all familiar here but not in your head."

"Please stop with the tree metaphors," said Dorian, now far more confused than he had been.

Cole huffed. "But it's all wrong! I don't like the Inquisitor you see. It's not right, you see a cruel face, but you didn't ever see that before, you saw sweetness and kindness and it's different and I don't understand."

Cole began to make a high-pitched sound of discomfort.

"Great, he broke Cole, I'm so glad," Varric muttered.

"I don't see how I could ever like the Inquisitor," Dorian said, for some reason picking that out of all the deeply confusing tree metaphors. "That's the entire reason this situation is even happening!"

Varric and Bull stared at him. "You keep saying things about the boss," Bull said, brows furrowing. "What, you blame him for this?"

"I can hardly see who else is to blame," snapped Dorian. "He razes opponents to the ground, alienates people left and right. You can't hardly blame me from wishing to escape Trevelyan's influence."

A long moment of silence stretched between them, then Iron Bull tilted his head. “Who the hell is Trevelyan?”

Dorian resisted the urge to smack his own face. “The... the Inquisitor. Trevelyan is the Inquisitor. Who did you _think_ I was talking about?”

“Well, shit,” Varric muttered.

“Dorian, Adaar is the Inquisitor,” Bull said.

“Who's Adaar?”

There was another moment of silence, then Varric's eyes went wide. “Oh, _shit_. Bull, we gotta figure this out before he sees-"

Just then, another Qunari jogged up, a light sweat shining on his skin. He wasn't as tall as Bull, and his horns curled up and behind him, almost elegantly so. He carried fresh embrium in one hand.

"Run off like a couple of stampeding druffalo," he said, pressing a hand to his chest. "Why-"

He stopped and stood completely still, staring at Dorian as though he saw the sun for the first time, eyes dilating. The embrium fell from his hand.

Then he went fucking berserk.

He seemed to not even see the fire runes, almost charging right through them. Bull immediately tackled the Qunari, sweeping his feet out from under him in an almost practiced move, grabbing one of the Qunari's horns and forcing him to the ground, pinning him easily.

"Let me go!" he shouted, trying to squirm out from under Bull, who had an iron grip on the Qunari's horns.

"Just _wait_ , dammit," Bull swore.

Varric bit his lip, looking back at Cole, who was still making that high-pitched sound. Dorian edged toward the Qunari, eyes narrowed, not wanting to jeopardize himself but still curious about this individual who had such strong feelings towards him, despite Dorian never meeting him before. Dorian saw familiar green sparks coming from the Qunari's left hand, a definite Mark, but there couldn't be two, not that Dorian knew of, not that the Inner Circle knew of.

And to make matters into even more of a clusterfuck of confusion, Solas rode up on a hart of all things, quickly dismounting and striding up to the strange Qunari.

"Inquisitor, we have a situation," Solas said, then stopped at the sight of Dorian.

"Yes, yes, it is I, Dorian the magnificent, here to cause rampant confusion for some reason currently unknown," Dorian said, having grown tired of this before even Cole showed up. “And now everyone's coming to gawk! Well, gather round, don't want anyone to feel left out!”

"Ah, yes, I see," Solas began, very slowly. "Well, the disturbances in the Fade certainly make sense now."

Dorian clapped his hands together. "Yes, do share them with the class, please. I believe we're all very tired of this game of twenty questions."

"How can he even _be_ here?" Varric asked, gesturing emphatically toward Dorian.

"He's a different tree!" Cole piped up, and at least he wasn't making that high-pitched sound anymore, although they had returned to obscure tree metaphors. Well, baby steps and all that.

Solas looked down at the Qunari, who had gone still in Bull's hold, and who stared up at Solas expectantly.

"This is certainly Dorian, as far as I can tell, no spirit or demon," Solas confirmed. "But he's not from _our_ world, so to speak."

Dorian rubbed his chin. "Well, that would explain all the confusion," he stated. "Different Inquisitor, rampant confusion, Cole's use of tree metaphors."

"Everything's wrong in his head!" Cole told Solas. "People who are dead but not, people who are gone that aren't."

Bull and Varric exchanged a long look, one Dorian couldn't quite identify. The Qunari deflated, looking at Dorian with the most impressive puppy eyes he'd ever seen.

Solas hesitated. "Well, er, Dorian, perhaps I should explain, to alleviate some of the confusion for you. I assume the only reason you're here in this world, as opposed to another, is because two people cannot exist in the same place at the same time."

"Makes sense," Dorian said, eyes narrowing. "What are you saying?"

"Dorian, in our world, you're dead."

Dorian blinked, then blinked again. "I'm sorry, what?"


	3. Lost Without A Guide

"You're dead. In our universe, you died four months ago," Solas said, with a gesture that Dorian could only interpret as 'please don't make this more difficult for me'.

A litany of thoughts ran through Dorian's head, first and foremost being _well naturally_ , because necromancy and the power of the Rift? Not completely beyond the imagination.

“Well, that's certainly morbid,” Dorian said cheerily, clapping his hands together. “Although from a theoretical and practical standpoint, extremely interesting.”

“That's a word for it,” Varric said, then waved toward the runes on the ground. “You, uh, you gonna get rid of those? Now that we've sorted all this out, you know.”

Dorian hesitated. They may not have been his enemies, but he didn't know if they were his allies, either. His death may have impacted these people, true, but he had no idea if his death was accidental or orchestrated. He stood firmly in the middle of uncharted territory.

“Very well,” he said, waving his hand and dispelling the runes. No need to cause alarm, after all. “I suppose we've come to some sort of accord. Better to sort this mess out.”

He briefly wondered if he could raise his own corpse. It'd be novel, but probably inappropriate and distressing. Well, for others. He _was_ a necromancer. He exited the cave, keeping his head high and expression casual. No need to give the wrong impression. He had standards to maintain.

"Let me up, Bull," the Qunari said. Inquisitor Adaar, Dorian mentally corrected himself. A novelty in its own right, an Inquisition with an entirely different Inquisitor at the helm. Bull grudgingly released Adaar's horns, who stood up and brushed off his clothes.

Solas and Varric looked at each other for a moment. Finally, Varric sighed and rubbed his forehead.

“Look, despite the fact that we didn't exactly broadcast your death, I can't imagine people wouldn't get suspicious if we just march back into camp with more people than we went out with, you know?” Varric made a plaintive gesture. “So, should we just set up here? Hash this out?”

“No need to alarm the commonfolk with my presence,” Dorian replied. “Imagine, those poor soldiers haven't had the benefit of my charm for ages! They might faint at my feet, and then where would we be?”

Adaar made a noise that sounded like a stifled laugh that became something more broken. Dorian sensed that he'd made a mistake somewhere, but he didn't know the rules.

“He missed you,” Cole said, from behind Dorian.

“Come on, kid, we'll work this out ourselves in a bit,” Varric said, in a strangely gentle tone. He'd never heard Varric talk like that to anyone.

“I'll get our shit,” Bull said, with a massive shrug. He fixed Adaar with a hard look. “Come on, boss. You're helping.”

The expression that passed over Adaar's face could only be described as deeply resentful, and glared at Iron Bull. When Iron Bull gestured towards the forest, raising his eyebrows, Adaar sighed.

“Fine,” he said. He looked at Dorian once more, as though Dorian was every point in his entire universe, and then left.

Dorian stared after the Inquisitor, floored by what he'd seen in the man's eyes. He'd never had anyone look at him like that, ever. What was that?

After they'd disappeared into the trees, Varric nudged Dorian's arm. “I guess I better explain the druffalo in the room. He, uh, he had something pretty serious with you. Well, not _you_ you, but- ah, shit, you know what I mean.”

Dorian gave him a sharp look. “I... see. I can't say I know how to feel about that.”

“It's important for you to know, as it seems you're trapped here for the time being, unless we can find a way to reverse the spell,” Solas said.

The mere fact that Dorian had entered into a serious arrangement with _anyone_ was enough to give him pause. Had the Dorian of this world experienced the same things he had? He'd never one imagined something like that for himself. It'd be madness.

“I'll have to write a letter to Nightingale,” Varric said with a heavy sigh. “She's never going to believe me.”

“Perhaps if you were told less extravagant lies, more people would take you seriously,” Solas replied.

Varric laughed. “You wound me, Chuckles. Lie? Me? I would never.”

There was an ease of converstation between them that hadn't existed between the Solas and Varric that Dorian knew. Did the Inquisitor alone inspire this? Dorian rubbed at his left arm, now distinctly aware of the ache and burn from where Trevelyan's magic struck him.

The rustle of underbrush annouced the return of the two qunari. Bull and Adaar set down their packs. “Grabbed an extra bedroll,” Bull said, gesturing toward the gear. “Maybe they'll believe Cole actually sleeps now.”

Dorian was just about to offer to help set up when something dashed past his feet.

He did _not_ yelp, no matter how creepy it was.

“Andraste's tits, what is _that_?” he asked, pointing at the offending creature, staring at him with beady black eyes.

He might as well have asked what all these trees were doing in the Emerald Graves, for all that the others stared at him.

“A... nug?” Adaar said, tilting his head to the side. “Do... do you not know what a nug is?”

Dorian scoffed. “I know what a nug is, but my understanding is that they lived entirely underground. Why is it _here_?”

“They're everywhere,” Varric replied, trying and failing to supress a grin. “Can't go anywhere without tripping over five of them.”

Dorian glared at the offending nug. It warbled and rubbed at its face with the creepiest feet he'd ever seen. Cole popped into existence beside him, holding a whole bushel of nugs.

“They like it up here!” Cole said, squeezing the nugs to his chest. They didn't seem to mind much, and one nug began to nibble on another nug's ear.

“Please get those things away from me,” Dorian said, leaning away from him.

“Wait, so let me get this straight. In your world, you don't have nugs underfoot all the time?” Bull asked, as Cole vanished again, hopefully to release the nugs somewhere very far away from Dorian.

“Hardly. I read a book on Dwarven history that mentioned them, along with delightful pictures of nugs, and sometimes less delightful pictures of nugs screaming. I believe the author exposed himself to raw lyrium a few times too often, so take what you will from that,” Dorian said, folding his arms. “Also I believe I'd remember their little hands haunting my nightmares.”

Solas hummed. “It seems the Inquisitor is not the only difference between us. I'd be very interested to see exactly what the constants and variables are.”

“I remember that book,” Varric said, scratching at his chin. “The author went insane and tried to drink from the magma flows in Orzammar. Caught on fire and beat another dwarf to death _while still on fire_.”

Bull laughed. “That's one hell of a way to go.”

They set up camp with a minimum of serious converstation, something it seemed everyone was trying to avoid for the time being, if only to preserve their own sanity. Adaar kept sneaking glances at Dorian, as if unsure whether or not to even look at him or speak to him. As it were, Dorian didn't know what to say to him, either. What was appropriate in this situation? 'Hello, I'm your dead lover from another world and I never met you so anything you had might as well still be buried with his corpse!'

There were better ways to approach the issue, certainly. Maybe Dorian could even get through it without resorting to sarcasm and morbid jokes.

After they'd finished, Adaar busied himself with the fire while Solas sat down beside Dorian.

“It might help if you told us exactly what events led up to you being sent here,” Solas said.

Dorian smiled. “Ah, well, it was a stunningly promising afternoon, rife with the hope of leaving the Inquisition for good and running off to Orlais to join Sera and her Jennies-”

“What, really?” Adaar asked, looking up at Dorian with raised eyebrows and a smile. “You'd have become a Jenny?”

“Of course. Before Sera left and stole everything that wasn't nailed down in a fit of spite, she told me in no uncertain terms that if I left, I was to join up with her. With so few options, I thought it'd be nice to join a friendly face,” Dorian explained. “I certainly couldn't return to Tevinter, being completely overrun with Venatori.”

Solas made a gesture for Dorian to continue. So Dorian explained how Trevelyan cornered him and confronted him about his decision to leave.

“Apparently dear Trevelyan was getting quite a bit of negative attention regarding his talent for alienating everyone he ever met, and decided that the tragic death of a member of the inner circle was far prefereable to people realizing he was only marginally more tolerable than Corypheus himself,” Dorian said, with no small amount of bitterness edging into his voice. “I imagine he could write the whole thing off as an assassination by someone who thought I was secretly a member of the Venatori. No shortage of those around.”

A loud crack made Dorian start, and he looked at Adaar, who had just snapped a log between his hands. Adaar stared determinedly at the ground, and Bull stood up and took the firewood from his hands.

Dorian cleared his throat. “Well, needless to say, I thought that was overly dramatic, even by his standards and we fought. He's a powerful mage in his own right, but I'm far more talented than he is. Unfortunately, I'm no match for the power behind the Mark, and once he brought that into play, I tried to make a hasty retreat. Used necromancy to boost my speed and send a terror spell his way right as he attempted to use the Mark to tear me apart. After that, I woke up here.” Dorian waved a hand to indicate the plethora of trees.

Varric let out a low whistle. “And everyone would have accepted that? No argument?”

Dorian shrugged. “Everyone had their own problems. Sera and Cole had left, you were too busy keeping Hawke and Trevelyan from killing each other, and Cassandra had decided that alcoholism would drown her regret at her part in making Trevelyan who he was. No one would have suspected a thing, honestly. It wasn't the worst plan he'd ever had.”

He rubbed at his arm again. “I imagine my necromancy and his manipulation of the Fade is what sent me here. Instead of dying, I simply was sent to somewhere I was already dead.”

Solas nodded. “It would seem the most likely explanation.” He watched Adaar and Bull step back from the firepit and lit a spark amongst the tinders. Soon, the fire blazed, and none too soon, as the sun slowly began to fall behind the cliffside.

“I don't like your Inquisitor,” Adaar snarled, sitting down and resting his chin in his hands. He glared at the fire as though it personally offended him.

Dorian smiled. “Ah, excellent, we've come to a consensus. Truthfully, I don't know if anyone actually _likes_ Trevelyan. Even his own family was reluctant to shackle their name to his glory.”

“So, what now?” Adaar asked, looking up at Solas and Varric.

Varric opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again and looked around. “Anyone see where Cole disappeared to?”

As though the act of speaking his name summoned him, Cole reappeared.

“I told Leliana and Cullen and Josephine,” he said, as though immensely proud of himself. “They didn't believe me at first, but now they do. They said to come home, with Dorian. “

“Well, since only a handful of people know you're dead or whatever, I guess we could arrange something,” Varric said. “Simple enough to explain you've been gone for a while. Secret undercover mission to infiltrate the Venatori or something.”

Bull grunted. “It's not the biggest pile of bullshit you've come up with.”

“If you've got a better idea, Tiny, you just let me know.”

“I didn't say I had a better idea. I just said it was't completely stupid.”

“Well, it's not like anyone has a guide to the kind of situation where your dead friend comes back to life except he's not dead, just an alternate version of himself,” Varric said, throwing his hands in the air.

Dorian laughed. “If anyone did have a guide like that, it'd be as bizarre as having a guide to an ancient magister who pops open the heavens and attempts to end the world through the wonders of red lyrium and pet archdemons. I think we can safely say we are well outside the realm of planning.”

He saw Adaar smile softly out of the corner of his eye. As the forest sank into night, he listended to Varric, Solas, and Bull discuss logistics: how to get back, where to get an extra mount, whether or not to avoid larger roads. At this point, all Dorian could hope for was some modicum of understanding of the why and the how of his appearance in this world. Everything else could be pushed back to later.

Later that night, beyond the point when everyone should have been sleeping, he overheard Bull and Adaar speaking in low voices.

“You know it's not him,” Bull said. “We talked about this.”

“I know, I'm not stupid,” Adaar snapped. Dorian could hear him sigh heavily. “I just... I don't know what I'm supposed to do.”

“One day at a time, same as before,” Bull told him gently. “You got this, boss. It's not gonna be easy, but you got this.”

Dorian tried not to think about that. Of everything that had happened, this was something he just couldn't focus on. Uncharted territories, strange waters, things beyond the realm of familiarity. He let the whispers fade into the background and tried to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, now no one thinks anyone else is a demon. Good job sitting down and hashing it out, guys. A+.
> 
> If you found the obscure reference in this chapter, you win my love, and an imaginary trip to Tahiti.


	4. Interlude - Resurrection

He wakes to ash.

The air sings, and he recognizes the siren song of red lyrium. He stands, assessing his surroundings with the same care he always does.

Yes, red lyrium. Yes, the echo of the Breach in the sky. Yes, the ruined crater of the Conclave around him, and even though the fires stopped burning long ago, the air is still thick with ash, and might be for years to come.

This is where Andraste blessed him. This is where he lifted the world from madness to a higher purpose.

However this happened, he would not waste time here. No, he must return. The world does not wait for him, nor anyone.

So he leaves the ruins, linking his hands behind him, knowing full well he'd ordered men stationed in the area in case Corypheus returned. They'd give him the resources to return to Skyhold. He knew this.

And yet, when he sees a lone female soldier patrolling the area, he knows all is not well.

"Soldier," he says, and she turns, eyes wide.

"Ser?" she replies, confusion crossing her features. Fair, he supposes. He is not supposed to be here.

He stops, evaluates her. "There were to be more soldiers stationed around the Breach. A constant watch. Where are they?"

"It's just the scouts, ser," she replies, and she dips her head at his tone. "We rotate out so no one's exposed to the lyrium for too long. Commander's orders."

He knows those are not the orders Cullen gave. He heard him give the orders himself.

"Do you often lie to your superiors?" he asks.

She tilts her head. "Ser?"

"Or perhaps you belive it and one of your officers told the lie for you," he continues. "Those are not his orders."

Her features harden. "Ser, I heard him well enough. You're not supposed to be here, it's not safe."

She does not know him. Easily remedied.

He brings his hand around and lets the Mark blaze into glory, letting it pull and weigh without harm. She gasps, shakes in the force of him, but her eyes are so wide, and he can see she is still confused.

"Who are you?" she asks. Her voice trembles, her eyes fill with true fear.

He feels his eyebrow tic. "I am the Inquisitor."

"But... you're not! The Inquisitor's Qunari!" she says, trying to pull out of the Mark's hold.

He hesitates. All is wrong with her statement. She's not simple, or uninformed. She knows this to be true, he can see it in her face. She serves a different Inquisitor.

Ash drifts from his shoulders, and red lyrium continues to sing. The clouds swirl above him, charred bones crack under the shifting of his boots.

" _I_ am the Herald of Andraste," he says, voice clear and ringing. "The Inquisition belongs to me, and I'll let no ox take what is mine."

He releases her and she flees. Word will spread. Many will not suffer a brute in command. It will be easy enough to regain order.

This is his legacy. No impostor can replace him, no matter what kind of magic they use to usurp him.

He walks until the ash becomes a memory.


	5. Reunions

When Dorian woke the next morning, he had the fleeting sense of confusion one has when they wake somewhere foreign - like the ground has opened up beneath you only for you to drop back into your own body. He shuddered out of sleep, Varric still in the bedroll next to his, and spent a few uncertain, shuddering moments just remembering.

He rubbed at his left arm again while he worked through the veritable gauntlet of insanity that had been the previous day. Dorian knew from experience that the pain from lightning magic faded after a couple of days, but that didn't make it more pleasant. That fight with Trevelyan left his arm tingling from lightning burns, but it hadn't been the first time.

He was just about to try to go back to sleep when the flap of the tent flew open, revealing a wide-eyed Adaar. The qunari stood still, staring at him, then suddenly flushed dark across his entire face.

“Good morning!” Adaar squeaked, then bolted like a startled halla.

The entire event was just _adorable_.

He didn't think he could get back to sleep if he tried, so he got ready and went out to find Solas.

Solas could be found in either universe, it seemed, simply by following the lingering scent of pretentiousness. Dorian found him standing in the cave, eyes closed and a small frown on his face.

"Your presence suggests that this is not a mere fluctuation of the Fade or the Veil, and rather something more permanent," Solas told him, not opening his eyes or turning around. "I'm not even certain it's reversible. What effect your presence has on this realm is yet to be seen."

"I don't feel any lingering magic on my person," Dorian replied. He frowned. “May I ask why you're standing in this cave?”

Solas opened his eyes and turned around. “I wanted to examine the site of your reappearance for myself. Your sudden departure from the location led here. Now, however, the magic has faded from you.”

He paused then, eyes looking everywhere but Dorian's face. Dorian knew what he wanted to say, he could see it in Solas's expression, but Dorian wasn't the sort of person to force another to expose their feelings.

“Your presence isn't unwelcome,” Solas said, all brusque and formality.

Dorian pressed a hand over his heart. “Is this a hint of affection I'm sensing? My, now I know I'm in another world. Don't strain yourself on my account, Solas.”

Solas huffed and brushed past Dorian, then stopped and turned back. In the morning light, he almost looked foreign, something so different and wild about his aura that Dorian forgot his own words. “I meant what I said,” Solas said, not ungently. He gave Dorian a small, rare smile, then returned to camp.

If Dorian received any more surprises, he wasn't sure he'd keep his sanity.

Nevertheless, he followed Solas back to camp, where Adaar stood by the fire with a few cups and a kettle among the coals. Cole sat by Varric, watching the kettle intently.

Bull looked up at Dorian. “That's gonna take some getting used to,” he muttered, scratching at the base of one of his horns.

“If I made this kind of shit up, my publisher would beat me with my own books,” Varric replied.

Adaar joined Cole in staring at the kettle.

Dorian frowned. “Are we having tea?” he asked, slightly confused.

Adaar huffed. “Of course,” he said, trying and failing to hide a smile. He did that quite a lot, Dorian noticed. “If we can't be civilized during the end of the world then what are we even trying to accomplish?"

Dorian chuckled. “Well, I'm not going to disagree with you.” He turned to Solas and raised an eyebrow. “Tea, Solas?”

Solas gave him a withering glance. “I'm not fond of it.”

“Oh, that's unfortunate,” Dorian said. He gave Solas his most dazzling smile. Solas narrowed his eyes then turned away, muttering something about regretting everything. Dorian awarded himself a tally in his own favor.

Then Cole was there, standing beside him, pressing something small and cool into Dorian's hand. Dorian looked down to find a potion. He tucked it away, preferring to not consume it in public. No need to draw any more attention to himself.

Cole frowned, began twisting his hands. “You should, but you won't. I don't understand. If it hurts, why don't you let me help?”

“Leave it alone, Cole,” Dorian replied.

Cole huffed. “You wouldn't let other me help, either.”

“Come here, kid, leave him alone for now,” Varric said. “Let's get back to Skyhold before we start breaking into all the drama, all right?”

Cole sighs heavily, but left Dorian alone. Dorian took the tea when Adaar offered it to him, and felt surprised when he tasted cinnamon and cloves. He hadn't had tea like this in months, although it felt much longer. It reminded him of better days, of time spent studying with Alexius

Adaar caught his eyes and smiled a little, as though he could sense Dorian's thoughts. He said nothing, however, and Dorian didn't quite know what to do with that. Certainly Adaar knew he'd like the tea, and Dorian did, but did he choose this just for this morning, or did Adaar drink it because he himself genuinely enjoyed it?

Dorian could ponder the mysteries of this world until he went mad from it all, so he savored the tea. No need to waste the finer things with aimless apprehension.

He'd taken the potion while the others packed up, and felt a small rush of gratitude toward Cole for his help. At least his arm wouldn't ache so much during the ride.

Once they finished, Dorian rode with Cole. There was some concern about transporting Dorian, who was very likely to draw attention as he hadn't been seen at all in months. Cole, however, solved that problem.

“I can make people not see you, just like they don't see me sometimes,” Cole had explained, nodding fervently. So that was that, and they left without much in the way of conversation.

The ride to Skyhold wasn't what Dorian would describe as comfortable. Long, awkward silence stretched on and on. No one seemed to know what they should speak about. Adaar rode at the front, Bull beside him, and Solas and Varric taking up the back. Cole's dracolisk didn't mind Dorian, surprisingly enough, though perhaps Cole worked his magic on him as well.

Each night, it ended the same. Varric sent a raven off with a message. Stilted conversation and subtle glances, then the next morning, tea. Solas and Dorian examined whatever magic remained on Dorian's person, and it never changed. Varric examined whatever messages he'd received, and they rode out. For the moment at least, Dorian was trapped.

How much of it he considered an actual trap was yet to be determined. As far as he could tell, the people of this world seemed to have missed him dearly, which certainly wouldn't have been the case in his world.

All this rumination came to a halt when they reached Skyhold. Cole kept one hand on Dorian's shoulder the entire ride in, and no one seemed to care that the four-man-team was five, nor that all of them were acting unusual.

Again, Dorian wasn't certain if their actions were truly unusual or if they simply acted differently in this world.

Cole stayed with him as they dismounted, hand on his shoulder even as they made their way through the courtyard and towards the Great Hall.

Dorian barely recognized Skyhold. Faces he didn't recognize greeted the Inquisitor and the others with warmth, and Adaar stopped to say hello to all of them. The courtyard itself had been re-planted with flowers, herbs, and statues, a stark contrast to the militant design that Dorian was used to. Healers bustled in and out of a building Dorian knew hadn't been there before.

Strangest of all was the northernmost tower, which had been hung with the banner of the Templars, but now hung with that of the Circle. Dorian had waited for the Inquisitor, in his life, at Redliffe, hoped he'd be wise enough to realize what was happening right in front of his eyes.

But Trevelyan had never intended to approach the mages, even from the start. If Adaar had reached out to the mages, then what had happened in his own past? Adaar had memories of events that had been buried with a dead man.

“He knows you can't know,” Cole said, and Dorian knew that no one else could hear them. “They walked into the future, and came back out. You promised him you'd protect him and you did, but he couldn't do the same for you, in the end.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Dorian asked, not quite meaning for the words to emerge from his mouth, but look, there they were all the same.

Cole paused. “You wanted to know, but you don't like asking. Not anymore,” he replied, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. Perhaps it was.

Bull left for the tavern, glancing at Cole and Dorian before he did. Adaar nodded at him, then led them into the Hall and down a side corridor. Dorian knew this was the way to the War Room, but he'd never actually been in there before.

Not like there was a need to invite him when everyone thought he was a spy.

Adaar pushed open one massive door, and Cullen, Josephine, and Leliana stood behind a large table, map and markers spread out before them. Once Adaar shut the door, Cole released Dorian's shoulder.

“Ta-da,” Dorian said, with an elaborate bow.

Cullen gave a start, then pressed a hand to his chest. “Well, you weren't exagerrating,” he told Varric, who shrugged.

“I'm not gonna lie about this, Curly,” Varric replied. “Not really the joking subject.”

Adaar placed himself on the far side of the War Table and stared at the map. “Bull's grabbing everyone else,” he said, fidgeting with one of the markers.

“Good,” Leliana said, her eyes focused on Dorian. “It doesn't do for them to be unprepared.”

“How many of them know?” Varric asked.

“We've told all the members of the Inner Circle,” Josephine replied. “Since so few people knew of his death, there aren't many to tell.”

“Well, I'm sure this won't be terribly awkward for absolutely everyone,” Dorian said. “All it needs now is a hearty dollop of highly improbable magic and we'll be set for the duration.”

The door burst open, and Dorian was nearly sent to the ground by a bundle of weepy elf.

“I don't even care about dumb magic shite, I'll fuckin take it,” Sera said, her arms an iron hold around Dorian's torso. “Better'n everyone bein all sad an weepy.”

Dorian chuckled, and pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket to wipe the fluids from Sera's face.

“You shouldn't cry like that,” he told her gently. “You'll look like a tomato.”

“People can fucking well deal with it,” she muttered. After a while, she detatched herself, but didn't leave his side, and linked her hand with his. “S'dumb. All of it. “

This, at least, hadn't changed. It relieved him to know that no matter what, he and Sera were still close friends. A constant, perhaps, regardless of situation. He squeezed her hand, feeling relaxed to have something familiar.

Cassandra entered next, and she sucked in a harsh breath at the sight of him, and then took up her place at the War Table with a quick nod to him. Cullen put a hand on her shoulder in some unspoken moment of comfort.

Dorian hated standing here in the midst of all this silent mourning, so he sat by Sera and schooled his best easygoing expression and pretended everything was just fine.

Next Vivienne swept into the room, all poise and finesse. She gave Dorian a small nod and a surprisingly gentle smile.

“Darling, it's good to see you,” she said, as though nothing had happened at all. “Dreadful business, but we all make do.”

“I'm sure you'll manage,” Dorian replied with a smile.

She eyed him, as though examining all the minor differences between him and the Dorian she knew.

Dorian didn't know the next person that walked into the room. A man of medium height with black hair and a thick beard, he wore the armor of the Grey Wardens. Bull followed him into the room, standing near enough to Adaar that made it clear Adaar was being watched.

The man in the Grey Warden armor gave a nod to Dorian. “Good to see you, though it is under unusual circumstances,” he said, with a nod. “Even if you are some sort of alternate Dorian.”

“Well, this is awkward,” Dorian said, deciding to just breeze through the moment. “I'm afraid that in my world, we've never met.”

“Ah,” the man replied, with a raise of his eyebrows. “Bit distressing, I'll admit. Well, my name is Blackwall, then.”

“Really, no Blackwall in your world?” Leliana asked, with a raised eyebrow.

“I'd certainly remember that beard, wouldn't I?” Dorian said, with a gesture to Blackwall's face.

“What if he shaved it off?” Sera asked, making a chopping motion with one hand.

Varric tapped his chin, staring off into the distance. “Now, see, _there's_ a thought. Do the differences extend to people? For instance, any of us?”

Dorian hummed. “Obviously Blackwall either didn't exist in my world or, more likely, never joined the Inquisition. Not surprising, considering Trevelyan's general disdain for the Wardens. Would you believe he had them exiled from both Orlais and Ferelden? Ridiculous. Was this world's version of Trevelyan less reprehensible?”

“I will have to investigate the information you've given us and see what I can learn about him,” Leliana said. “If for no other reason than curiosity. Assuming he attended the Conclave and died there, he would have had to have a reason for his dislike for Wardens.”

“I wouldn't know,” Dorian said, examining his nails. “We weren't on very good terms.”

“In the meantime,” Josephine interrupted, with a sidelong look at Adaar, “we should make sure that you keep a relatively low profile, at least until you can adapt to these new... circumstances. So, you'll be resuming your old duties, researching and occasionally assisting the Inquisitor in expiditions.”

“Assuming you are enough like the Dorian we knew, you'll also need to adapt to his old habits,” Leliana continued. “Such as chess with our illustrious commander and spending time with the Inquisitor.”

He chuckled. “ _Well_ , I can't speak for the dead, but that doesn't sound terrible at all.”

Cassandra made a face at that. “Must you say things like that?”

Dorian rolled his eyes. “I'm terribly sorry, was I not a Necromancer in this world?”

“Well, yes, but-”

“Then I fail to see how I wouldn't find my own humor hilarious,” Dorian said with a wave of his hand.

Varric sighed. “Please tell me you weren't planning on raising yourself.”

“Please, Varric, that sounds unbelievably crass.”

“That wasn't a no.”

“Ask me no questions and I'll tell you no lies,” Dorian replied with a smile. “You have less grey hair than the Varric I know. Lovely for you.”

“Well that was just uncalled for,” Varric muttered, and continued muttering under his breath.

Solas cleared his throat. “The magic that brought him here is stable,” he said, linking his hands behind his back. “So there seems to be no danger to him or us at the moment. I'm not sure how to reverse this, nor if it's reversible at all.”

Leliana frowned. “Then we need a story. The one we've already discussed amonst ourselves is that Dorian was on a secret mission for an extended time. It's a small blessing that we decided not to spread news of his death to anyone aside from those who needed to know.”

“Then it's settled,” Josephine said. “Dorian's quarters are still available to him, so we needn't worry about that.”

“I propose that Dorian and I find out more about the differences between our worlds,” Solas said. “It should be extremely illuminating.”

“We'll need as many history books as we can get our hands on,” Dorian said, feeling a well of excitement bubbling up. “I'd really like to figure out this nug thing.”

“Nug thing?” Blackwall asked, raising an eyebrow.

Varric shook his head. “Apparently there aren't nugs everywhere in his world. Weird.”

“Perhaps that is enough for now,” Cullen said, rubbing his forehead. “Let's convene in the morning to discuss this further.”

Leliana nodded. “I do believe we have enough to consider, and I'd like some time to look into certain matters before we continue.”

“I'll show Dorian to his room,” Adaar said, finally looking up from the map after his prolonged silence.

Cassandra pursed her lips, and gave a quick nod. “Then let's save the rest for later.”

Everyone began filing out one by one, their eyes flicking to Dorian as they did. Bull gave Adaar a long look before he left, and Adaar nodded once at him before Bull seemed satisfied. Sera squeezed Dorian once more.

“Not allowed to go anywhere,” she said, prodding his chest as she pulled away.

“Doesn't even look like a possibility,” Dorian replied, kissing her hair. “Now run off and wash your face. You look a mess.”

She sniffed once, then marched from the room with her head held high. Dorian folded his arms, suddenly feeling cold.

Adaar walked up to him and bowed his head, trying not to meet Dorian's eyes. Dorian could see the gilded plating around his horns in more detail now, and he was stunned at how elegantly carved they were. Someone must have put a great deal of care and time into the artwork for them to be so beautiful.

Dorian followed Adaar to a walkway overlooking the gardens, to a room below the balcony high up on the tower that connected to the Inquisitor's rooms. Adaar led him inside, then stood by the doorway as Dorian looked around.

He certainly had far more things here than he ever did back in his quarters. Books and papers littered the surface of a desk places against the far wall, and a vanity sat next to a large fireplace. He opened the wardrobe to find a plethora of clothes and robes, as well as several very intimidating and well-made staves. Warm rugs in his favorite colors spread across the floor, almost completely obscuring the stone floor. The bed had been piled high with pillows and thick, colorful blankets.

He didn't know what to say, instead tracing his fingers across the line of cosmetics carefully arranged on the vanity.

“Is... is it okay?” Adaar asked, fidgeting with his hands. “I don't think anyone's been in here since...”

Dorian smiled, feeling his heart swell. “Okay? This is marvelous. I can hardly imagine this belonged to me.” He felt his face drop. “Well, not me, I suppose. Not really.”

“It's yours as long as you choose to be here,” Adaar said, and when Dorian met his eyes he saw such fervent honesty that he had to look away or be burned by it. Not 'if you stay', not 'if you can't go back', or even 'if you would be with me', but 'if you choose it', which was more than he could comprehend.

“I can't see myself complaining,” Dorian replied, feeling a smile turn his lips.

Adaar smiled then, apprehension melting from his face. “I'm glad,” he said, as though he'd let out a breath he seemed to have been holding for days. He then hesitated, and dropped his head bashfully. “Um, I still have some of your things in my quarters, but I can bring them down for you! I don't want you to feel uncomfortable.”

Dorian chuckled. “No need to worry. You're so earnest that anyone would be hard-pressed to be intimidated by you. It's rather charming.”

Oh, dear. Was he flirting? No. No, this was a terrible idea. He mustn't, not with someone who was so clearly still working through his grief. But Adaar smiled again, and oh, how it made something forgotten light up inside his chest.

“Well, get some rest,” Adaar said, ducking his head at Dorian again. His smile didn't fade, not this time. “It's been a stressful past few days.”

And with that, the Inquisitor left, quietly shutting the door behind him. Dorian almost felt slightly cold in his absence, but firmly pushed that feeling away.

He meant to look through the notes and books scattering the desk, he did, but he ran his hands over the blankets instead. One of them had been made of fennec fur, soft enough to make him shuck off his boots and burrow into the bed. He buried his feet under the plethora of covers and before he knew it, his eyes had closed of their own accord, and he drifted into sleep.

 


	6. Better Than Home

Dorian woke far into the next day, only opening his eyes when he heard a knock on his door. He managed to extract himself from the cocoon he'd wrapped himself in from all the blankets and pillows, and stumbled to the door.

Adaar grinned sheepishly when Dorian opened the door, holding a covered tray. Dorian blinked several times, squinting against the very unwelcome intrusion of light.

"I... I hope I'm not disturbing you," Adaar said. "I brought breakfast?"

Dorian chuckled. "Well, anyone who brings me breakfast can't be all bad," he said, and waved Adaar into the room.

Dorian lit the fireplace with a wave of his hand as Adaar set the tray down on the desk. Dorian ran his fingers through his hair while Adaar's back was turned, feeling oddly self-conscious.

"I know you've got stuff here, but if you need anything, for whatever reason, you can let me know," Adaar said, turning back, the words rushing out of him. His eyes widened then, and he waved his hands. "And... and it's not for any reason! I don't want to make you uncomfortable. Just to let you know that you're welcome here and everything."

“It's quite all right, Inquisitor,” Dorian replied with a smile. “I find it hard to believe you have a single malicious bone in your body.”

Adaar flushed. “W-well, I'll just leave you be,” he said, inching towards the door. “Got Inquisitor stuff to do. So... bye!”

And with that, Adaar was out the door and Dorian was alone. He lifted the cover on the tray to find oatmeal sprinkled with cinnamon and sugar, fresh blueberries, and... was that cocoa? How in the world had the Inquisitor gotten hold of cocoa?

Well, Dorian was never one to turn down delicacies. After breakfast, he dressed in one of the many outfits from the wardrobe, picking a dashing robe of ring velvet. He'd always liked the color of ring velvet against his skin.

With a few minutes spent making sure he was presentable, Dorian felt confident enough to venture out into this new Skyhold.

First, to discuss the entire magical dimensional transportation business with Solas.

Solas, like in any world, could be found in the rotunda, painting. At least, Dorian could only assume that in any world Solas would be busy painting. The man certainly seemed fond enough of it.

“Ready for our little study session?” Dorian asked, a smile spreading across his face.

“I believe so,” Solas replied. “Varric mentioned he would like to join us. He's very curious about our... situation. Leliana has set up an area for us that is away from prying ears, and still close to the library.”

“Excellent!”

Technically, the room was linked to the library, but it'd been outfitted with silencing runes so no one could listen in. Solas had already gathered quite a few history books, from the look of things. Dorian moved to the largest stack and picked up the first one, a history on the Dales.

“Assuming you know your own world's history well enough to compare, I took the liberty of delivering quite a bit of parchment here so we can take notes,” Solas said.

Dorian scoffed. “Solas, _please_. Is that doubt I hear in your voice? I'm offended.”

Solas chuckled. “Shall we work from the present backwards?”

“The present is as good a place to start as any,” Dorian replied.

They began by comparing the decisions of Adaar and Trevelyan, their choices between mages and templars, their focus on helping others as opposed to accumulating power. Solas explained how they'd traveled to Redcliffe to meet Alexius, and had encountered Dorian in the process.

“After we went to confront Alexius, he used an amulet that you and he had worked on in the past to send you and the Inquisitor into the future,” Solas told him. “The two of you figured out away to get back, and when you returned, we took Alexius into custody.”

Dorian felt something lift from his shoulders, a weight he didn't know he'd been carrying. “What happened to him?”

“He works for the Inquisition now,” Solas said. “The Inquisitor decided he should put his knowledge to use, and that he would serve his sentence under very strict observation.”

“It's good to hear,” Dorian replied, “to know he didn't die in disgrace.”

A knock came at the door, and Varric entered, books tucked under one arm. “If I can interrupt, I've got some material for you to read,” he told Dorian, setting the books down on the table. He placed a hand on the topmost book, _Tale of the Champion_. “Brought it by so you can tell me if there are any differences between my books.”

Dorian frowned. “Well, I'm not sure how much I'll be able to tell you. I never finished your book.”

Varric raised his eyebrows. “But you loved my book! Okay, not so much my romance serial, that was terrible even by my own standards, but you have your own copy of _Tale of the Champion_.”

“It never really hooked me,” Dorian said with a shrug.

“I thought you were a big fan of Fenris,” Varric replied, sounding slightly offended. “You know, runaway slave fighting back against the corruption of Tevinter and all that.”

“Fenris? The Champion's tale never mentioned a Fenris,” said Dorian, tapping his chin.

Varric's smile vanished, and his expression turned to one of thinly disguised distress. “Fenris... wasn't in the book?”

“No. And I didn't care much for Hawke. No surprise that he and Trevelyan spent most of their time together fighting,” Dorian said.

“He? Well, we found another big difference,” Solas said, jotting down Hawke's name alongside the list of things they'd already discussed.

“Our Hawke is a woman,” Varric told Dorian. “Sassiest human I've ever met. I'm sure you can tell me at least a little more. Give it a read anyways. The you in this world even had a first edition. Hell, it's probably still in your quarters somewhere.”

Dorian chuckled. “Very well, I'll look it over, but I can't promise anything.”

Varric gave a jaunty salute and strode out of the room. Solas sorted through the books Varric left behind, and picked out a couple of volumes.

“I'm not certain what more we can figure out without you doing a little more research on your own,” Solas said, adding the books to a growing pile on the table. “Besides, I believe it's time for lunch.”

“Is it noon already?” Dorian asked, raising his eyebrows. It certainly wasn't uncommon for him to get caught up in his work, however.

Solas nodded. “I'd like a break at least. Perhaps we can pick this up tomorrow morning.”

Dorian gave an elaborate bow and swept out of the room, Solas chuckling as he did so. Dorian wandered toward the Great Hall, books tucked under one arm. He planned to drop them off in his quarters and then acquire some food before digging into his research.

He was quickly intercepted by Sera, who very nearly bowled him over.

“Oi, we're all drinking tonight, big celebration, you in?” she asked, all bright smiles and overflowing energy. “Wot am I saying, course you are, you're the guest of honor! You, me, everyone else, a game of Wicked Grace and tons of booze. Just don't bet against Josie, you'll be naked.”

Dorian smiled at Sera's contagious energy. “Nothing would make me happier,” he replied.

She nodded once, then grabbed Dorian again for a quick hug before bounding off. He noticed she was carrying a large jar of honey, and decided he didn't need to know what she was up to.

He wandered up to his quarters, and once again felt a swell of happiness as he saw all the colors and warmth, all the things he'd wanted but never dared to invest in. He tucked the books away among all the notes and papers scattered over the desk, all the remnants of a life he hadn't lived. He felt the disconnect, the feeling that he was treading in a place he shouldn't. Was it disrespectful, to be intruding and pretending to be a dead man? Was it wrong to want to replace him, however he tried to repress the growing desire?

He shook it off and left to find some lunch. No sense ruminating on the morals of his situation on an empty stomach.

It seemed everyone wanted to speak to him, as he ran into Varric and Adaar, with Adaar holding a covered tray.

“There you are, we were just looking for you,” Varric said, grinning. “Look, Adaar brought you lunch.”

Dorian smiled. “Well, that's kind of you. Care to join me?”

“I've got letters to write, but I'm sure his Inquisitorialness wouldn't mind,” Varric replied, nudging Adaar's hip with his elbow. “You're playing Wicked Grace with us tonight, right?”

“Naturally,” Dorian said. “I'm not one to turn down free drinks.”

With a wave of his hand, Varric retreated to his table by the fireplace, where enough paper had been spread across it to smother a small child. Or possibly a dwarf. Well, Varric knew the risks of the game.

This left Adaar holding the tray and looking incredibly awkward.

“Um,” Adaar began, then quickly shut his mouth.

“Should I let you flounder, or shall we retreat to my quarters where you can salvage your image?” Dorian asked, unable to keep himself from smiling at Adaar's flushed face. “No need for everyone to think you aren't the absolute essence of grace and poise.”

Adaar chuckled, and followed as Dorian gestured for Adaar to follow him. “I'll have you know I'm very graceful. Best forward scout in my entire mercenary band.”

“Interesting. And did you see a lot of action?” Dorian asked.

He shrugged. “Some. I prefer to stay out of fights, though. I don't like lots of violence.”

Dorian laughed, struck by the absolute absurdity of the situation, and the complete change from what he knew of his inquisitor. “I have to say, that's quite a breath of fresh air. Worlds of difference.”

Adaar ducked his head and followed Dorian into his quarters. “I'm glad, then.”

Dorian lifted the cover of the tray and almost gasped at the smell. The bowl was filled with thick curry, coating chunks of meat and potato. A small loaf of bread sat beside it, as well as another cup of tea. He gingerly took the tray from Adaar, and took a bite of the curry. An appreciative sound escaped him despite himself. The spice made his mouth burn, just like it was supposed to, and a wave of happiness swept over him.

“I haven't had curry like this in years,” Dorian said, sitting down at the table. He gestured for Adaar to join him. “How did you come by this?”

Adaar smiled. “Well, I'm not totally selfless. My company is mostly made up of other qunari, and deserters of the Qun at that. They'd cook as much spicy food as they could get their hands on. My parents did the same thing. I had some made today, but I already ate. I thought you might enjoy it.”

“That's extremely kind of you,” Dorian said. “Although, I find myself at a loss. You seem to know a great deal about me.”

“I do, yes,” Adaar confessed. “I know they told you about... my relationship with the Dorian of this world. And, and I don't expect anything from you, I know you're not him, I do. I just... I know you've been homesick a lot.”

“There's nothing to be worried about, dear Inquisitor. It's been a dramatic change from what I've come to expect from Skyhold.” Dorian took a sip of his tea, relishing the taste of cloves and cinnamon. “And I'm certainly not going to object to your presence. You're very thoughtful.”

Adaar's smile widened, becoming dazzling. Dorian decided to attribute the growing warmth in his chest to the tea.

“Well, I have to go talk to Josephine about some incoming diplomats,” Adaar said, getting to his feet. “I guess I'll see you tonight, then?”

“I'm sure you will,” Dorian replied.

Adaar left with a nod and a smile, and Dorian did not stare at his backside like the bad, bad man he was.

He wouldn't do anything, however. He wouldn't be the stranger who took advantage of the feelings Adaar had for a dead man. No matter what, Dorian had to remain professional.

At least, until he figured out exactly what to do with his life. As tempting as it was to stay here, and it was so, so tempting, he didn't know if he felt right replacing himself. Wouldn't it be wrong, to slot himself into a place that already mourned him?

They knew him, and they didn't. They liked him, but not _him_. They were overjoyed to see him, but he wasn't exactly who they wanted, not really.

No matter. None of it mattered, at the present. Dorian shoved the thoughts away, and dove into his research.

He spent the rest of the afternoon reading and taking notes, enjoying the warmth from the fireplace and the multitude of soft blankets to wrap around his shoulders to stave off the omnipresent chill of the mountains.

He quickly discovered that most of the history books remained unchanged. No change in wars or Divines or history of magic, no change in champions or major events. Even a majority of literature were the same, except for minor changes in wording. The differences he found were almost entirely cosmetic in nature, like a book's cover being red instead of blue, or the lettering being blue instead of black. Things almost inconsequential, in the long run.

After a while, Solas arrived, a book in his hands.

“Anything useful?” he asked.

“Just small things of little importance, but I've noted them anyways,” Dorian said, holding up his notes and setting his book down.

“Perhaps more recent history would be more illuminating,” replied Solas, handing Dorian a copy of the Warden's biography.

“Perhaps,” Dorian agreed.

A small smile appeared at the corners of Solas's mouth. “No harm in checking.”

“Well, thank you for the book,” Dorian said, setting it down on his table. “I appreciate all the help, I really do.”

“I imagine it's quite confusing,” Solas said, after a pause. “I don't know whether or not you wish to return to your own world, or if it's even possible.”

“To tell the truth, I suppose I wouldn't mind terribly if I couldn't,” Dorian replied. He looked up as someone knocked on the doorframe.

Cassandra stood in the doorway, lips pursed. “May I speak with Dorian privately for a moment?” she asked them.

Solas nodded and left the room, closing the door behind him. For a moment Dorian didn't quite know what to expect. Cassandra had always been suspicious of him in the past, not willing to let go of the notion that he might have been a spy or something of the sort.

“I need to ask your forgiveness,” Cassandra blurted out.

Well. That wasn't what Dorian thought was going to happen.

“My dear, I'm sure there's nothing to forgive,” Dorian replied, a growing realization forming in his chest that he didn't want to name. “Besides, I only just got here. There hasn't been much time for anything at all.”

Cassandra frowned at him. “Because of my actions, you died in this world. I cannot ask him to forgive me, but here you are. Even if you are not the same person, you are still Dorian. I wronged you.”

“From what I've seen, the Dorian of this world had better relationships with the Inquisition that I do with the Inquisition of my world. I can't imagine there's much to forgive,” Dorian replied, hoping that would solve the problem. Not that he didn't like Cassandra, far from it, he'd always respected her, but he wasn't sure how to deal with this situation.

“But that's because you don't know!” Cassandra snapped, her face twisting with guilt. “How can you possibly forgive me before I tell you?”

Dorian didn't respond. If she needed to tell him, then he'd let her get the story out. He nodded at her, just once, a strange prickling starting on the back of his neck.

She let out a heavy sigh. “We were in the Emerald Graves. Trying to root out the Freemen, keep them from harassing refugees. But there were so many Red Templars in the forest as well, and we had to go slowly because of them. One day, we ran into a large group and were unable to retreat. We fought hard, you and Sera taking up the back line while the Herald and I fought at the front. I counted ten of the Templars, one of them a Behemoth. I was wrong. We heard the last one materialize as the Behemoth fell. It appeared behind you. You didn't even hear it.”'

She fell silent then, as if she'd lost her voice. For a moment, he thought he saw her eyes glistening, but she regained control, stance stiffening as though presenting herself to Dorian for judgement.

“My duty is to protect and defend, and I failed you in that. I should have spotted the last Red Templar. He was right there-”

Dorian stood and crossed to her. “Cassandra Pentaghast,” he said, very clearly, “this is nonsense.”

She opened her mouth to argue, but he held up a hand. “Accidents happen, even in the heat of battle, and no one person should hold themselves responsible for all of them. I haven't heard a single thing out of your mouth that requires any forgiveness whatsoever.”

Her expression softened, a gentleness around her eyes that Dorian had never seen before. “Please, Dorian.”

It shocked Dorian that Cassandra would become so distraught over his death. He didn't know what to do, other than give her what she was looking for.

He sighed. “Cassandra, I forgive you, even though I think it's not your fault and you have no reason to apologize in ther first place.”

“Thank you, Dorian,” she whispered. She sniffed, clearly trying not to cry.

“There now, that wasn't so bad, was it?” he asked, smiling. “I'm sure everything will be sunshine and roses in no time.”

She gave him a rare smile. “Perhaps. We shall have to see.”

After she left, stating she had to speak with Cullen. A chill swept over Dorian's skin with her departure, having little to do with the cold mountain air. He remembered finding his Cassandra stealing wine from the cellars, eyes red and puffy. She had tossed him a bottle and told him that she didn't care anymore. Honestly, he didn't blame her for wanting to drown her problems in alcohol, not when he did the same thing himself.

He knew he'd have to reconcile his memories sooner or later. Put them to use rather than have them hindering him here. Perhaps he could help these people avoid the mistakes made in his world.

He put his work aside when the time came to join everyone at the tavern, and made sure he looked immaculate in the mirror. His own mirror! How extravagant!

If Dorian had any doubt about this world, it vanished the second he entered the tavern. Sera's exclamation of joy was overshadowed by the fact that Krem sat beside her, grin on his face and a drink in his hand. They'd dragged one of the larger tables into the center of the room and pulled up chairs all around it. Varric, Cullen, Adaar, Bull, Josephine, and Leliana sat at the table as well, drinks and food spread out over the table.

“Dorian!” Krem said, lifting a bottle of ouzo. “I've got the good stuff. Get over here.”

Dorian sat down beside him, unable to keep a stupid smille off his face. “Oh, breaking it out just for me? Krem, you sentimental sap.”

Krem rolled his eyes and switched to Tevene. “ _If it's traditional at births and wakes, I figure it should be good enough for a reverse wake, or whatever the hell this is. Does the majestic Altus approve?”_

“ _Solid logic for a Soporati,_ ” Dorian replied in Tevene.

Krem switched back to Common. “Then drink up and shut up.”

Sera took up the seat on his other side, and slammed a tin down in front of him. “Eat these,” she said, as Krem poured Dorian a drink. Dorian opened the tin to find it full of cookies.

“Special not-dead cookies,” Sera explained, poking Dorian in the shoulder. “They're probably terrible.”

“Well, I suppose I can suffer through a few,” Dorian said, warmth spreading through his chest. He knew what the cookies meant, how rare a gesture it was from Sera. She'd only made cookies once before, when she and Dorian had stayed in Skyhold while Trevelyan left for an important mission. They'd shared with Bull and the Chargers, and Sera managed to get invited back to Skinner and Dalish's room.

Dorian had made the mistake of going back to Bull's room. Not that Bull wasn't very enjoyable, but after the Chargers died, Bull changed, and Dorian lost all interest.

But this wasn't his world, and here the Chargers weren't dead, and Krem and Sera broke out the good stuff to celebrate his return.He couldn't imagine something that could make him feel so _wanted_. Krem poured him some ouzo, and Varric began to shuffle cards.

“What, we getting started already?” Sera asked.

Varric chuckled. “Just getting the cards warmed up. Gotta get them in proper shape.”

Blackwall and Cassandra joined them not too long after, and Varric began dealing in earnest.

Aside from copious application of alcohol, the atmosphere felt so _real_ , and Dorian wound up laughing harder than he had in years, especially when Cullen flat-out refused to continue playing against Josephine. She gave him the widest eyes Dorian had ever seen, the picture of innocence.

“Commander, surely you aren't the sort to back down from a challenge,” Josephine said sweetly.

“I know when to retreat,” Cullen replied, raising his hands in defeat. “And you still haven't returned my clothes from last time.”

“You bet your clothes against an Antivan?” Dorian asked, raising his eyebrows. “That sounds unwise, Commander.”

“I won those fair and square,” said Josephine, her smile widening. “Should you wish them returned, you'll have to play me again.”

By the end of the night, they were all thoroughly inebriated, and Sera had slid under the table to tie the laces of Blackwall's and Josephine's boots together. Dorian decided he didn't need to know why. Cassandra had already begged off another game to go to bed, and the Chargers slowly trickled out. Adaar stood, grandly proclaiming that he was smashed and done losing all his money to Varric.

He then promptly fell on his ass.

Dorian couldn't help laughter from bubbling out from his lips, the sight of Adaar's shocked face too much to deal with.

“Come on, dear Inquisitor, let's get you up to bed,” Dorian said, getting up and helping Adaar off the floor.

Adaar gave a very drunken salute. “Yes sir. I bid you all good night,” he said, and Bull waved them off, a small smile on his face.

Despite the darkness, the stars lit up the entire sky, and small lanterns lines all the major paths, so it wasn't any trouble at all finding their way into the Great Hall. Dorian knew where the Inquisitor's quarters were, of course, but he'd never been inside. He certainly wasn't prepared for the truly ridiculous amount of stairs.

Keeping Adaar upright while keeping himself upright created an interesting challenge, but Dorian had accomplished more with a greater quantity of ouzo in his bloodstream. Finally, they reached Adaar's rooms, and Dorian managed to get Adaar to the bed. Adaar flopped onto the blankets with very little grace, and bundled himself in the multitude of blankets.

Dorian thought for a moment about returning to his own rooms, but decided that stairs in his state was just a bit much to consider. He wasn't about to join Adaar on the bed, though. That was a terrible idea even while drunk. So he stole several blankets from the bed, Adaar only grumbling briefly, and retreated to the couch.

Set in front of the fireplace, logs crackling, he realized that the Inquisitor's couch was ridiculously comfortable. Dorian drifted off full, drunk, and happy.

 

He woke annoyed.

Something, somewhere, was creating a racket, and the sun had decided to be a bit of an ass and shine its full intensity right into his eyes. Somewhere behind him, he could hear Adaar hissing as he began to move about.

Eventually Dorian realized that the racket was actually someone knocking on the door. Whoever they were, they were nothing if not persistent. Dorian sat up as Adaar stumbled to the door, squinting in the light.

Leliana entered the room before Adaar could even answer, striding in with a serious expression.

“Skyhold better be on fire,” Adaar said, rubbing his eyes.

Leliana barely blinked. “Close enough, Inquisitor. We've received critical information from Caer Bronach.”

“What is it?” Adaar asked.

Leliana hesitated, her eyes flicking to Dorian. “The fort has been taken, by a man proclaiming to be the true Herald of Andraste. He has a Mark, almost identical to your own, and he's been identified as Maxwell Trevelyan, who perished at the Conclave.”

And Dorian's stomach turned to stone.

 


	7. Foreign Figures

The statement hit Dorian like a blast of ice, sapping the warmth from the room. Adaar took a few steps back, the shock evident on his face for only a moment before he squared his shoulders and set his jaw.

“I can only guess that this is your Inquisitor?” Leliana asked Dorian, raising an eyebrow.

Dorian sighed. “If he's declaring himself the true Herald, then I'd have to assume so. I wouldn't doubt he'd do something like this, with the size of his ego. It seems the spell brought him through with me.”

“That's less than ideal,” Adaar said, folding his arms across his chest. “Leliana, gather Cullen, Josephine, and Solas and meet us in the War Room. We need to sort this out as soon as possible.”

Leliana gave a respectful nod and left.

A moment of silence stretched between Dorian and Adaar, and Adaar's look of focused determination faltered as he avoided Dorian's eyes.

“Well, this is awkward,” Dorian said, injecting as much cheer into his tone as he could. “Here we were, enjoying sleeping in from a night out, and it turns out I brought an egomaniacal dictator bent on domination through with me. Quite a mood-killer, wouldn't you say?”

Adaar chuckled. “It does kind of put a damper on things,” he replied, finally meeting Dorian's gaze. “You should join us. You know him best, after all.”

“Of course,” Dorian said with a bow. “All too happy to help. It is partially my fault.”

Another moment of silence. Adaar cleared his throat, a flush darkening his face. “Did... did you have fun last night?”

“I did, in fact.” Dorian found himself a little surprised by his own statement. It'd been a while since he enjoyed himself so much.

Adaar nodded. “Um, well, there's stuff here for you. Clothes and stuff. It's in that closet in the corner, if you want. I know it's probably strange.”

Dorian waved him off. “Please, Inquisitor, this situation is strange enough. After the nugs, I'm not sure much else could surprise me.”

“I'm sure Varric would take up a bet with you on that,” Adaar replied, grinning.

Dorian opened the closet, running a hand down one of the robes inside. A small shelf at the back held extra makeup and lotions, carefully lined up with Dorian's own neat precision. The inside of the closet was far less musty than his own rooms had been, and he knew that someone had to have kept it like this.

Most likely it was Adaar, who stood off to the side, staring at his own hands and remaining silent as though not wanting to startle Dorian out of his thoughts. Dorian picked one of the robes out almost at random, something made of royal sea silk. He didn't need to linger.

The sense of intrusion was stronger than ever. A Dorian who cared for Adaar kept these things here. He stayed the night often enough to warrant his own wardrobe. That alone was a foreign concept.

“I hope I'm not making this difficult,” Dorian said, turning around. He truly didn't, didn't want to cause Adaar any pain. For someone so powerful, he had an aura of kindness and joy at odds with his size.

Adaar shook his head, narrowly missing the curtains on his four-poster bed. “You're not. I... I'm not going to lie. It's not the easiest of situations for anyone. But I'd never blame you. It's not your fault.”

“Well, unless we want to make the situation substantially more awkward, I'll just step into the side room to change,” Dorian said.

That immediately caused Adaar to flush, and he made an odd wave with one hand then turned around so quickly that he got his horn caught in the curtains. Dorian almost managed to stifle a laugh, promptly clapping a hand over his mouth as the noise slipped out. He stepped into the next room to let Adaar salvage some shred of dignity.

When they were both ready, they joined the advisers in the War Room.

“Since your appearance and the information we received from you about Trevelyan, I did some research into him and his background,” Leliana said, hands folded neatly behind her back. “It seems the intruding Inquisitor has quite a history, especially in the Ostwick Circle.”

“He held a number of beliefs as much of his family, being pro-Templar and maintaining strong support of the Chantry,” Cullen said. “In fact, records indicated that despite being called to the Conclave as part of the delegation for the Mages, he held a strong contempt for most of his fellow mages.”

“You know, the Trevelyans are actually distantly related to the Pavus house,” Dorian said, folding his arms. “I'd say it's a disgrace, but I'm currently a pariah, so perhaps I'm the outlier here.”

Solas strode into the room, looking disgruntled.

“Ah, good timing,” Leliana said, with a small nod. “Perhaps you can explain how Trevelyan could have appeared here.”

Solas sighed. “I'm not entirely certain,” he said, rubbing his forehead. “I can't say with any certainty. My only explanation is that the same spell that drew Dorian in also drew Trevelyan in, which is clearly evident.”

“But two Marks?” Adaar asked. “How is that even supposed to work?”

“I'm working on it,” Solas said, no small amount of irritation working its way into his voice. “We're all in new territory here.”

Adaar raised his eyebrows. “Solas, this is _your_ magic.”

Dorian blinked. “Did I miss something? What, exactly, is Solas's magic?”

“The Mark,” Leliana replied, almost absently, examining the map. “You know, we can easily sneak agents into Caer Bronach and begin monitoring his activities. If I know myself, then I wouldn't have told Trevelyan everything about my agents.”

“You do a good job,” Adaar said, with a smile. “I have confidence in you no matter the universe.”

Leliana chuckled and patted Adaar's cheek. “You're precious.”

“Can we back up a moment? The magic of the Mark is Solas's magic?” Dorian said, deeply confused.

Adaar shrugged. “His orb, Corypheus stole it, caused the Breach, Solas is trying to fix things cause he's an ancient elven god, et cetera.”

Dorian glanced at Solas, who was looking grumpier and grumpier with every word. “Well, I knew you were more than you seemed, but this certainly clears things up. Which elven god?”

“I'm not a god,” Solas said, with the sort of tone that one only adopts when they've had to explain things far too many times. “The Dalish are incorrect. And Fen'Harel, in answer to your question.”

“I guess this wasn't common knowledge in your world?” Cullen said, raising his eyebrows.

“I don't see how,” Adaar replied. “He's really bad at hiding it.”

Solas didn't bother answering, just stared at the ceiling as though it would grant him patience.

“Fascinating,” Dorian said, feeling his lips twitch into a smile. “So, how are we fixing this? I'd rather not have Trevelyan muck up this world as much as he's doing ours.”

“If one thing is certain,” Solas said, still staring at the ceiling, “then it's that we must send him back. Not only could his presence destabilize the Breach, but his lack of presence in your world means that there, Corypheus is bound to succeed.”

“Yikes,” Adaar said. “I can't let that happen. No world deserves that.”

“Naturally,” Solas said, finally meeting Adaar's eyes with a small smile. “I'll begin work immediately. Is there anything else you require?”

“If you have any theories, I'd like you to bring them to me before we begin anything,” Leliana said.

Solas gave a small bow, then left the room, closing the door behind him without a sound. Cullen turned to the map and its many markers with a frown, placing a finger on Caer Bronach.

“We should not delay in dealing with this,” Josephine said. “We cannot let our allies know about this development. The longer he hold the fort, and the longer he spreads the rumor that you are not the true Herald, then the longer we lose credibility and power.”

“We can use it to our advantage, though,” Adaar said. “Someone's already trying to mimic me. I was here first, so this is obviously a crazed madman out to grab for power.”

Dorian laughed. “Quite literally, in fact.”

They began to discuss tactics, the merits of sending in spies versus sending in soldiers, how to approach the keep from the shores, and where the best place to stage a battle would be. They occasionally asked Dorian about Trevelyan's tactics and personality, about whether he'd spur the soldiers to fight or whether he'd send assassins in the night, whether he'd attempt to reach out to nearby allies or whether he'd continue to spread rumors and grab for power.

By the time they called for a break, Dorian felt a headache creeping into the back of his skull. Something must have showed on his face, because Adaar murmured an apology and gave him a sympathetic smile.

He went back to bury himself in research, accepting enthusiastic greetings from Varric and Sera. The sense of disconnect overwhelmed him, like everything was some strange, too-perfect dream that he wasn't waking up from.

The thought came to him almost from nowhere. Was this actually a dream? Had he been struck unconscious by Trevelyan and was actually deep in a coma, trapped in the Fade?

To be fair, that was more likely than the situation he'd found himself in. If it were a dream, a figment of the Fade, then would it even matter if he decided to stay versus waking up? If he was in a coma, what was the point? He wanted some way for this to be real, solid, a possibility, but he didn't completely believe.

Although if it were the Fade, Dorian very much doubted that Trevelyan would be included in some ideal hidden in his heart.

He dove back into the books.

Descriptions of the Warden drastically conflicted with what he knew of the Warden of his world. In this world, Alistair had become king with Anora, instead of Anora ruling by herself. The Warden was a Dalish elf who'd promptly disappeared with her elven lover, the assassin Zevran. In his, the Warden was a casteless dwarf exiled from Orzammar, and she had eventually married Alistair.

Alistair perished in the Fade several weeks ago when Trevelyan left him to die. Honestly, it was a bit of a surprise. Trevelyan despised Hawke immensely.

Sera once commented that Trevelyan and Hawke hated each other so much that they were one argument away from having gratuitous hate-sex. She then described the hypothetical event in graphic detail, using a number of very creative hand gestures. Then they all found out that Varric could do extremely accurate impersonations of both Hawke and their esteemed leader. Krem had laughed so hard that he fell off his chair.

Dorian realized he'd been reading the same line over and over again, then slammed the book closed.

“That's some riveting reading you got going on there.”

Dorian nearly knocked over a stack of books, then glared at the intruder. Bull stood in the doorway, lit mostly by the light from Dorian's room. Dorian wasn't sure what he was waiting for, but he could guess. With a sigh he gestured for Bull to come in, and Bull closed the door behind him.

“Can I help you?” Dorian asked, trying not to reveal too much lingering hostility.

Bull raised an eyebrow. “You wanna try that again without sounding like I stabbed you in the face?”

Dorian waved his hand. “Did you need something?”

“Boss told me to let you know that we're leaving for Crestwood tomorrow morning,” Bull said. “Take out the problem as soon as possible and try and contain him until Solas gets his shit together.”

Dorian hummed in agreement. Bull continued to watch him, not making any kind of move to leave.

“Did you come here just to bask in my presence or did you need something?” Dorian asked finally, just wanting Bull out of his room so he could go back to his books.

"So," Bull began, settling down in an extra chair, "I'm gonna throw a theory out there. You don't have to say anything if you don't want to."

"Very well," Dorian replied, keeping his expression neutral. He supposed it was only a matter of time. Each member of the Inner Circle seemed determined to bond with him.

"Me and the Boss and the Chargers headed out for the Storm Coast a while back, business with the Qun. Homeland thought about offering an alliance. Didn't go well, came down to a choice between the Chargers and our alliance with the Qunari," Bull said, and Dorian couldn't quite place the emotion leaking into Bull's voice. "But see, I was too wrapped up in what was going on that I couldn't even begin to make a choice. I just stood there like a fucking idiot, staring at that coast, when the Boss grabbed me by the horn and told me to call the retreat before he did it himself."

Dorian felt his lips twitch but said nothing.

"So I'm guessing that the same thing happened back in your world, me standing and gaping and mind totally blank, and your Inqusitor told me to let the Chargers die," Bull continued, and that, there, that was genuine sadness. "So now, you've got this grudge against me. Can't say I blame you."

Dorian didn't want to have this conversation, not ever, he hadn't even talked to Hissrad about it, but this Bull wasn't Hissrad, and it wasn't fair to keep him in the dark. Perhaps he'd already figured it out, but Dorian wasn't making himself look any better by acting like a child.

"I didn't have a lot of friends in my Skyhold," Dorian said quietly. "Sera and Krem, mostly. I got closer to the Chargers as time passed. Not many safe places under Trevelyan's rule, I suppose, but with Sera and you and the Chargers, I didn't feel quite so alone."

"Ah," Bull said, as he figured it out. "Us."

"Well, not anymore," Dorian said, with a wave of his hand. "Hardly more than a few fond tumbles. Whatever could have been isn't possible, nor would I want it to be. It's a thing of the past."

Bull sighed, his massive shoulders dropping. "I dunno how things worked out for me in your world, but here I'm done with that life. No going back now."

"I'm sure your other self would say the same," Dorian replied. He hesitated for a moment, carefully examining the Bull before asking the question he'd been harboring for quite some time. "Pardon me for asking, but are you and the Inquisitor involved?"

"No, no, there's nothing between me and the Boss," Bull chuckled. "I was the only one strong enough to take him down when he started losing it. There's a reason that relationships aren't a thing under the Qun. Losing a piece of your heart like that can drive a Qunari mad. For a while, we thought the Inquisitor wouldn't make it through. I mean, he helped me when I struggled with being Tal-Vashoth, so I was really the only one who had an idea of how he'd act."

Dorian nodded, as that were the only proper reaction. He didn't really understand, having never really talked to Bull or Hissrad about the Tal-Vashoth. It simply was a conversation that never arose.

Then Bull fell silent, and his gaze returned full force on Dorian. “If you're planning on sticking around, if you can, then there's a place for you. Lots of people missed the hell out of you, not just the Boss. But if you want to go back, then don't lead him on. He's had his head fucked with enough.”

Dorian glared at him. “I'd thank you to remember I'm not here by choice,” he said, “and through attempted murder, no less. I have no intention of creating more problems. When we leave tomorrow, it'll be me cleaning up the mess that got us here in the first place.”

“This guy tries to kill you and you call it your mess?” Bull asked, with a disbelieving laugh.

“If that's all, I'd like to continue my reading,” replied Dorian, with a dismissive wave of his hand.

Bull stood with a shrug, as though he knew full and well that Dorian was fed up with questions. On the way out, he hesitated, fixing Dorian with another long look, then left without a word.

The entire conversation made Dorian shudder. He'd had enough of Qunari spies. He remembered seeing the look in Bull's eyes right before he became Hissrad, that fading from the man he knew into something harder, something unforgiving, something inescapable, and Dorian fled from that.

He doubted that this Bull was that much different. Choices might make a man, but the same capacity still existed inside of them.

If he avoided knocks on his doors, no one metioned it. Dorian felt too much from the past few days. He simply couldn't process it, like falling through the air only to hit the ground. Even the books he read were simply _off_ , minor and inconsequential things that made reading tear at him.

And then the sweet Adaar, who ducked his head when he felt shy, who brought Dorian all his favorite foods and drinks, who mentioned his dislike of confrontation and his need for civility. In another life, Dorian might have fallen deeply for him. Curving, elegant horns with silver and gold plating, a faint smell of wildflowers and herbs lingering around him, slimmer and shorter than Bull but still a powerful presence.

Dorian felt guilty every time he saw him. None of this belonged to him.

If he barely slept before they left the next morning, then that was fine.

 


	8. Let the Thunder Roll

Dorian glared at the mount presented before him.

"I refuse to believe that this was my 'favorite,'" Dorian said, folding his arms. "There's small differences, and then there are outright lies, Inquisitor."

Adaar's eyes widened. "Dorian, do you think I'd do something like that?"

Dorian gestured wildly to the... nuggalope, if that could even be considered a creature. "This is just ridiculous."

"You named him Snuffles," Bull said, gearing up his massive black stallion. "He ate right out of your hand."

"Lies," Dorian replied, eyeing the _pink_ nuggalope as it began to gnaw on the door of the stables, eyes drifting in different directions. "You cannot possibly convince me. I haven't been so disturbed by a single creature since we fought Snowball."

Adaar shivered. "I am not a fan of giant spiders, thanks."

Then Dorian saw the Bog Unicorn, and cooed at it. “Ah, here's my lovely,” he said, stroking its nose. “Good to see some things remain the same.”

“Told you he wouldn't believe you,” Bull said, with a sympathetic pat to Adaar's shoulder. “Good try, boss.”

“It's so unhygenic,” Adaar whined, tilting his head back like a petulant five-year-old. He threw himself over his dracolisk with a dramatic groan.

Dorian chuckled. “The great Herald of Andraste, defeated by the mere sight of a Bog Unicorn,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “I suppose all Corypheus needs to do is charge into battle on one.”

Adaar raised his head. “It's _gross_ , Dorian. And it scares people.”

“I missed this sweet beast,” Dorian said, and the Bog Unicorn snuffled at his face, clearly happy to see him. “Trevelyan decided that Princess did not suit the image of the Inquisition. Made me get rid of him.”

The Bog Unicorn made a noise that could have been a happy whinny, if its vocal cords hadn't decayed.

Adaar wrinkled his nose as Dorian led Princess out of his stall. Dorian caught the gesture, and stifled a laugh.

“Now, now, a little bit of lavender oil gets rid of the smell,” Dorian replied, fishing some out of one of his pockets and dabbing some on the beast's neck.

“That is exactly what you always say and it never becomes true,” Adaar grumbled.

Dorian couldn't stop himself from smiling then, and remained in a good mood as they finished saddling up their mounts.

They rode out with Solas, Bull, and Cassandra, Dorian an extra in their standard team. Hopefully, they wouldn't have to fight, but knowing Trevelyan, they'd wind up fighting regardless.

They arrived at Crestwood in very little time, considering the distance. The Inquisition camp had moved prior to their arrival, strategically placed down the coast near the entrance to the caves below Old Crestwood.

Dorian wasn't sure as to the story behind that, but it probably had something to do with the absence of the rift in the middle of the lake.

Scout Harding met them at the edge of camp, hand behind her back.

“Inquisitor,” she said, nodding her head to Adaar as they dismounted. “Good thing you're here. This guy claiming he's the true Herald is causing a lot of trouble.”

“How much trouble?” Adaar asked.

“Well, on a scale from one to Corypheus, I'd give him a solid Archdemon,” she replied. “He's already planning a full-scale takeover. He's been gathering all kinds of people to him, and he's just getting started. I don't think he's managed to win over any nobles with that winning personality of his, but he's definitely been reaching out to your enemies.”

“We've got spies in there?”

“A few, but we can't send many in. He's been picking them out of the crowd and stringing them up on the battlements. Not a pretty sight.” Harding grimaced at the last bit. “If you're going in, be careful. He's one hell of a mage.”

“Thanks, Scout Harding,” Adaar said. “You always get us the best intel.”

She turned pink. “Just doing my job.” She nodded at Dorian. “Glad to see you back from your mission.”

Dorian managed a sideways glance at Adaar, who wasn't giving anything away with his expression, just attending to his dracolisk. Although one of his ears twitched, if that was anything to go by.

They set up for the night, all of them preparing for whatever conflict the next day would bring. Dorian felt a cold dread building in the pit of his stomach. They didn't know Trevelyan like he did, if anyone could claim to truly know the man.

“If he can find a moment to strike, he will,” Dorian told them, as they tended to their gear. Adaar looked up from sharpening his knives, eyebrows raised.

“Do you think he'll attack us?”

“Oh, without a doubt,” Dorian said, waving one hand. “No question. Whether or not he'll decide to talk after is a different matter.”

Adaar nodded, but didn't say anything in response. For what Dorian had seen so far from him, this level of silence and seriousness was unusual. From the look of Bull and Cassandra, it wasn't just Dorian's imagination.

“I'm sure he'll listen to reason when we inform him that we can get him back,” Cassandra said, but her voice didn't sound certain.

Solas sighed. “That is, when we develop said method. As it is, I only have a few theories.”

“I think you're all being a bit optimistic,” Dorian cut in. “Trevelyan isn't exactly an amiable individual. He's much more prone to destroying everything and everyone that looks at him funny.”

Adaar shrugged, then stood up and headed for his tent. “I guess we'll just have to see,” he said, looking over his shoulder at them. “Let's just turn in.”

His departure cast a silence over the rest of them.

Over the next day, they coordinated with Leliana's spies and Harding's scouts and gathered a plan of attack. Cullen had sent in troops in small numbers and had them scattered through the surrounding area.

The keep was well fortified, just as they'd left it. At first, they considered sending in a messenger to request that Trevelyan meet with them, in a peaceful manner.

“Well, be sure to send someone you don't particularly care for,” Dorian said, examining his fingernails. “Because I'm quite sure they'll wind up very, very dead.”

“He just kills everyone, doesn't he?” Adaar asked, frustration painted in the lines of his body, all tense muscles and thinly veiled irritation. It never ceased to baffle Dorian, just how unlike Trevelyan this Adaar was. He wore his emotions openly, in contrast o Trevelyan's cold demeanor.

Dorian shrugged. “I suppose everyone must have a hobby.”

“He should take up knitting,” Bull said. “More soothing.”

Cassandra made a disgusted noise.

They decided to send a messenger bird instead, though one of the spies seemed extremely put out by this news, petting the bird protectively. There wasn't much to do otherwise, so out the bird went.

The message sent, they waited for Trevelyan's response.

Dorian had no doubt that Trevelyan would refuse and tighten security, with all the pride he had. He watched Adaar pace back and forth, before the news came in.

“Inquisitor!”

A scout ran up, breathing hard and clutching her side. She saluted, and leaned over to catch her breath.

“What's wrong?” Cassandra asked, instantly on alert.

The scout let out a breath. “The keep's guards are doubled, but that's not the problem. A rift opened up in front of the keep. There are demons all over the field. If we storm the keep, we have to get through the demons first.”

“Thank you,” Adaar said, then pulled Dorian aside, Cassandra close on his heels.

“Did you know Trevelyan could do that?” Cassandra asked, keeping her voice low.

Dorian leaned back, appraising them. “Of course. He's been able to open rifts as well as close them since Adamant.”

“Adamant? What happened at Adamant?” Adaar asked, brow furrowed. “We haven't been to Adamant yet.”

“Ah, yes, that would explain the confusion,” Dorian said, with a raise of one eyebrow. “Honestly, I'm surprised. I'd think the incident with the Grey Wardens was time-locked. Interesting.”

“Dorian, come on,” Adaar said, with the sort of patience that came only from extensive experience of listening to Dorian for long periods of time.

Dorian sighed and waved one hand. “Very well. To the point: the Mark is capable of opening as well as closing rifts. I'll get into detail more later, but at Adamant Trevelyan opened a rift in order to prevent his own death due to a fall from a great height. I wasn't there, but Bull, Cassandra, and Varric were. Along with Hawke and Warden Alistair, but that's another matter.”

Adaar nodded, drawing himself up to his full height. “Let's go close it then. See if he can open rifts faster than we can close them.”

“We'll have the soldiers storm the keep itself while we take care of the demons and the rift,” Cassandra said. Adaar nodded, and Cassandra waved to the runner to deliver the orders.

Dorian felt pulled along by the flow of their energy, time slipping by him as the soldiers maneuvered into position and everyone waited for Cassandra to give the signal. Something strange curled in the center of his chest. Like dread, but colder.

Then Adaar stepped into the swarm of demons, his Mark flaring into being, and Cassandra signaled for the soldiers to assault the keep.

The demons turned on Dorian and the others as if the soldiers weren't even there, the Mark lighting up the field in sluggish waves. Adaar spun with lightning precision, knives flashing through the air and finding their target in the blink of an eye. Dorian spun barriers into place around Cassandra as she began to slice her way through the ranks, pure determination and ferocity drawing foes into her path. 

Bull let out a roar as demons rushed him, and a few hesitated just long enough for his maul to smash through them. Between his reaver rage and Cassandra's sheer presence, they drew attention to them like moths to a flame.

That became especially accurate as Dorian drew flames beneath the feet of the wraiths. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Adaar falter in his attacks. Of course, Adaar had been moving towards them, and hadn't expected Dorian's magic to appear in his way. Dorian frowned and place another barrier on Adaar.

Solas spun barriers faster than Dorian, so Dorian began to raise the dead and set them on the demons.

The first wave went down without a problem, then the second, and then Adaar closed the rift, the resulting flash of light clearing the sky. The soldiers had entered the fort by that time, and even though the battle had spilled outside of the fort itself, there was no question as to who was going to win. Dorian began to feel like maybe, maybe, the situation could be resolved quickly.

Then, the false Herald strode into the fray.

Trevelyan burned with sparks and ice, the Fade swirling around him like a cape. Dorian suddenly remembered, in perfect clarity, why everyone feared him. Trevelyan's presence on the battlefield weighed all enemies down as he used his magic to thicken the very air with cold ozone.

Adaar focused in on the mage, tracking his every movement with a razor-sharp precision. It felt to Dorian like a large cat tracking its prey. For a long, long moment, Trevelyan and Adaar stared each other down, Trevelyan's rift magic crackling through his fingers and flaring with every flex of his hand.

Trevelyan narrowed his eyes at them, sparks still flickering across his fingers. "I am to assume you are the Inquisitor?"

Adaar lifted his left hand, letting the light of the Mark flare into life. "You're not in your world. Whatever magic you tried to work on Dorian brought you into this world."

Trevelyan's eyes trained on Dorian, that relentless focus making Dorian's blood run cold. Dorian refused to let that show on his face, however. He wasn't about to let Trevelyan win this.

"So, we both landed in the wrong place, I see," Trevelyan said, his voice dangerous. "Interesting, I suppose. Knowing your specialty, I can only assume we've both been dragged somewhere we're both dead."

"Let no one say you're slow," Dorian replied, keeping a firm grip on his staff. "A veritable fount of unpleasantness and a heartless bastard, but certainly not stupid."

"Charming," Trevelyan snapped. He looked back at Adaar with no small amount of disdain. "I'm quite certain you were better off."

A low growl began to build in Adaar's throat, and his grip tightened around his knives. Bull put a hand on Adaar's shoulder.

"Easy there," Bull said, eye trained on Trevelyan. "We still have the upper hand."

"Change of pace, isn't it?" Dorian asked, smiling wide. "Harder to play god when someone else has the same power you do, hmm?"

Trevelyan stared at them, and Dorian could almost hear the thoughts running through his mind. He was calculating his odds, weighing tactical options and words.

Dorian knew he wouldn't give in. There was never compromise with Trevelyan.

"These people don't know you," Dorian said, knowing that he was pressing his luck. "They're not your allies. They have no loyalty to you."

"I'm well aware of the differences," Trevelyan replied, his eyes drifting toward Bull's maul and Adaar's Mark.

"Ah, and you're waiting for what? A warm welcome? People to fall at your feet and shower you with roses and kittens and freshly oiled virgins? Is your ego really so big that you can't even surrender when you _know_ you're outmatched and outclassed?" Dorian continued, so fed up with Trevelyan's gluttony for power.

Trevelyan's eyes snapped back to Dorian. He'd seen Trevelyan go into a rage before, only on a handful of occasions. It was rare, but when it happened, he'd razed everything in his path to the ground with a thoroughness that bordered on obsession. Even Vivienne didn't dare to cross him when he entered that state, and she barely blinked when they fell into the Fade.

So when Dorian saw that particular fire in Trevelyan's eyes, a far cry from his usual stone-cold demeanor, he knew what Trevelyan's choice was.

Trevelyan's eyes flicked back to Adaar, whose face contorted with anger. A flicker of humor crossed Trevelyan's expression.

“Sleeping with the first beast to have you, hmm?” Trevelyan asked, voice like the air before a storm. “Do they actually know _you_ , Dorian? Know that you whored yourself out to anyone who could offer you sanctum?”

Bull had to physically restrain Adaar then, as he tried to leap at Trevelyan.

Trevelyan laughed, eyes fixed on Adaar. “Maker have pity on your pathetic soul. You have feelings, for _this_?” He gestured sharply at Dorian on the last word. “And you, Cassandra, you really will hand over the entire Inquisition to anyone, won't you?”

“Why, _why_ are you antagonizing the people trying to fix this?” Dorian hissed, approaching Trevelyan, keeping his voice low. “I would have thought you had slightly more intelligence than this.”

Cassandra finally managed to intervene, pushing her way past both Bull and Adaar. She stood behind Dorian, stance firm and authoritative.

“In our world, you perished at the Conclave, having not reached the orb before our Inquisitor,” she said, but her face indicated that she definitely didn't like him. “We know who you are, and we have the authority and knowledge to get you back to where you came from.”

“Between Dorian and myself, we've already developed a prototype spell,” Solas added, and the lie was so smooth that Dorian had to remember that it wasn't true.

Trevelyan considered, but Dorian knew he wasn't actually thinking on it. He didn't truly believe, not really. Dorian had watched him for far too long to be fooled by his composure.

“And you?” he asked, facing Dorian, his voice low enough that the others couldn't overhear. “Are you here to provide insight? I can hardly imagine you'd be here out of the goodness of your heart.”

“Believe it or not, I _am_ trying to help. Do try and keep up. Two Marks, affecting the Veil, both beacons to Corypheus. And without you back in our world, there truly won't be anyone to stop him,” Dorian said, thoroughly fed up.

Trevelyan didn't respond for a moment, simply evaluating Dorian. “None of you actually have a solution yet, do you?” he asked, a fragment of delight growing in his voice. “This is simply an effort to control rouge elements. Is it because I denounced the ox over there?”

Dorian ground his teeth. He knew it was hopeless, but he had to try to get him to cooperate. “For once, _for once_ , just listen. You're no fool. We can find a way, and we can get you back. This is ridiculous, even for you.”

Trevelyan's eyes seared into Dorian, and he sneered. “I may be outnumbered, for the moment, but I'm hardly the only one who sees the incompetence in this world. I'll put no stock in your abilities.”

He turned away, spinning his staff, turning his back on the others. It rankled, that Trevelyan didn't even consider them a threat.

In Dorian's frustration, he did something he knew he shouldn't have. He reached out and grabbed Trevelyan's arm.

It happened so quickly that Dorian couldn't process it. One moment, he stared into Trevelyan's face, watching the man's face twist with fury. The next, searing light threw Dorian back, and he landed hard on the ground.

For a moment, Dorian felt his heart stop. Stutter, stutter, a horrifying pause, stutter, then a painful beat as though his heart was trying to escape his chest. He gasped, chest pounding with the aftermath, pulse galloping. Someone screamed, someone else hauled Dorian from the ground, someone else cursed loudly and profusely.

He blinked back black spots from his vision and tried to focus. Bull's face loomed above him. He was saying _something_ , but Dorian couldn't hear him. Everything around him rang, a tinny sound that set his teeth on edge. His chest felt like it was cracked open and burning.

Something burst into green light beyond Dorian's vision, and a massive burst of energy made the air shudder and groan. Someone was screaming, _demanding_ to be let go.

Dorian focused on Bull's face. Solas appeared in his line of sight, and his hands glowed with soothing green light.

“Iron Bull! I need your assistance!” Cassandra shouted, her voice muffled, and Bull left with a curse.

Dorian tried to sit up, but Solas pushed on his shoulder, and Dorian laid back with a hiss. The skin on his chest pulled and burned, and Dorian knew it was already blistering.

Solas let out an irritated huff as he tried to move Dorian's shirt away from his chest to better see the burns. Dorian tried to help, but his hands shook too much to be useful.

“It's fine, just hold still,” Solas said, but his voice sounded distorted and tinny. “Please try not to move.”

If Dorian could have gathered enough of himself to respond, he would have told Solas that it most certainly was _not_ fine and he'd very much like to see what was happening, thank you very much.

Since he couldn't get his tongue to work without making a vague groan, he'd have to keep it to himself.

There _was_ a lot of yelling, wasn't there? More than one could assume to be reasonable when one had just been electrocuted by a borderline madman. He shook his head, trying to clear the ringing from his ears and fuzziness from his vision faster.

Solas muttered something under his breath, a furrow growing between his brows, and something cold pressed against the sharp line of burns over Dorian's heart.

That began to clear Dorian's head, sped along by Solas's healing magic. He blinked the last of the spots out of his vision, and leaned up to see what, exactly, was happening.

Trevelyan had vanished, no trace of him anywhere except for a substantial amount of blood splattered over the ground and covering Adaar's hands. Adaar, for that matter, stood breathing heavily as Cassandra held his knives, presumably pried from his hands.

“What happened?” Dorian asked, sitting up fully with Solas's assistance.

“We pulled the Inquisitor off of Trevelyan, and he vanished,” Cassandra said. “We'll have to send Leliana's people to look for him. Caer Bronach is ours once again, it seems.”

Adaar wasn't looking at anyone. His expression had gone blank, and he had been twisting his hands in the same motion for several minutes now. Bull stood by him, hand on his shoulder, whispering something to him that Adaar didn't seem to hear.

“A Fade cloak,” Solas said, holding another poultice to Dorian's chest. “Interesting, the way he combined it with such a potent mind blast.”

“He's always been very talented,” Dorian admitted. “If he weren't so... _him_ , I'd respect him. As it is, well.” He hated how his voice caught on his words. Even with the healing, he felt his own nerves fighting against him.

Solas hummed. “We ought to procure a carriage. I believe it unwise for Dorian to ride back to Skyhold.”

Cassandra nodded. “I'll have it arranged,” she said.

Dorian let out a long breath. He hated lightning burns. They never left a clean, easy burn. Solas met Dorian's eyes then, and lowered his voice.

“It seems you have had burns like these before, though not as severe,” he said, looking at the old scars on Dorian's shoulder, shirt pulled aside to access the fresh burns on his chest.

Dorian managed a small dismissive wave. “Perils of joining the Inquisition. At least, Trevelyan's Inquisition. One of my reasons for leaving, as it were.”

Something passed behind Solas's eyes, and he nodded as though he'd made a decision. “Perhaps it is fortuitous that you arrived here, then.”

“Perhaps. Although I apologize for Trevelyan's unfortunate influence. Messy business.”

As they waited for the carriage, Dorian drank the last of the lyrium and healing potions. Exhaustion washed over him in the aftermath of the confrontation. Dealing with Trevelyan had never been a pleasant experience, and this time even more so. Dorian found himself thinking fondly of the comfortable room in Skyhold set aside for him.

Finally, Cassandra arrived with a small carriage and their horses, and Solas and Adaar helped him into it. His legs shook as he tried to stand by himself, and he had to abandon that attempt quickly.

Dorian collapsed onto the seat with a stifled groan, holding the dressing to his chest with one hand.

“I'll sit with you,” Adaar said, “if, if that's okay.”

Dorian smiled. “Well, I can hardly blame you. I'm an excellent conversationalist. I'll save you from having to entertain yourself on the ride back.”

Behind Adaar, Dorian could see Bull give them a little half-smile. If anything was important, it was keeping Adaar out of his own head.

Adaar climbed into the carriage with Dorian, sitting on the opposite seat. Solas handed him the rest of the healing supplies. Before he shut the door, he gave Adaar a long look, which Adaar studiously ignored.

The carriage jolted as they began to move, making Dorian hiss in pain. Adaar scrambled to his side, helping Dorian lay down on the seat. Once Dorian was situated, Adaar knelt beside him on the carriage floor, at an apparent loss for what to do.

“What happened with Trevelyan after?” Dorian asked, to try and ease the tension.

"I stabbed him," Adaar said, voice clipped. He placed a hand on Dorian's shoulder. Adaar trembled, and pressed a hand against his mouth. “Ten times.”

"Are you alright?" Dorian asked.

Adaar let out a broken laugh. "You would ask me if I was alright when you nearly died."

Dorian could see the panic building behind Adaar's eyes, his breathing speeding up. Tears began to form, and he started to shake hard enough that his entire body rocked with it. Everything about him was dissolving, and Dorian knew he was seconds from a full-blown panic.

"No, no, come here," Dorian said, and pulled Adaar against him. Boundaries and dead men be damned.

Adaar curled up next to Dorian, tears running freely down his face. "I'm so sorry," he whispered into Dorian's shoulder, arms wrapping around Dorian's waist. "I'm so sorry. I thought you died. I can't, I just can't, I couldn't see that again. I would have killed him, and I wouldn't have cared."

"Well, I can hardly blame you," Dorian replied, forcing some cheer into his voice. "Trevelyan isn't known for being overly charming. Rather unpleasant, much like druffalo dung in the summer."

Adaar squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his face into Dorian's neck. Dorian reached up and hooked his arm around Adaar's neck, under his horns.

“This hasn't been a terribly good day for you, has it?”

“No,” Adaar replied, his voice small. “I don't _like_ confrontation.”

Dorian chuckled. “And yet here you are, covered in blood and demon viscera. I must say, you are a man of many mysteries.”

“I'll show _you_ mysteries,” Adaar said, petulant. He then raised his eyes to meet Dorian's, and blinked. “I... didn't mean that the way it sounded, I promise.”

“What a shame. I've been known to love mysteries.”

Adaar flushed, and buried his face against Dorian's shoulder again. He stayed quiet

“I don't want to make you uncomfortable, or do anything you don't want to do,” said Adaar after several minutes. “I don't want you to think this is something that you need to do. To... to care for me because you think I'll be worse if you don't. That's not good for either of us.”

Something in his phrasing caught in Dorian's mind. He felt Adaar had this picture into Dorian's thoughts, like he understood something about Dorian that Dorian himself didn't want to acknowledge.

And yet his words were so _honest_ and _heartfelt_ , said with such sincerity that Dorian had no doubt Adaar truly meant such things.

“My dear Adaar, if I do something, it is only because I want to,” Dorian replied. “Now, I do believe we've had quite enough drama for today. Let's find something enjoyable to talk about, like agreeing on how terrible of a man Trevelyan is.”

Adaar nodded, his expression serious. “Unmitigated douchebag.”

Laughter bubbled from Dorian, and the resulting smile from Adaar felt like the greatest reward he could have asked for.

 


	9. Hypothesis

After their return to Skyhold, Adaar made sure to tuck Dorian into his bed, fussing over him the entire time. Dorian couldn't bring himself to mind, though he supposed he should feel at least a little irritated at all the attention. But after Adaar made sure to bring him his favorite foods and covered Dorian with blankets, a warm glow built in his chest, better than the roaring fireplace.

It really wasn't necessary, and Dorian told everyone as much, but no one listened. Apparently, a near-death experience was enough to make everyone panic. So the healers fussed, and Sera fussed, and Cassandra fussed, and Adaar fussed more than all of them combined.

Truth be told, Dorian appreciated it. His chest ached, and he knew the spiderweb-like pattern of burns would scar.

The healers didn't bother trying to contain their surprise when they got Dorian out of his shirt and saw the other scars from lightning burns. Dorian spun a story about being undercover and getting hit by rival mages, something he and Leliana had drawn up beforehand.

Adaar glared at them as if they'd stabbed him in the back.

When the healers had left, and Adaar and Dorian were alone, the Qunari curled up in the squishy armchair near the fire and looked mournfully at Dorian.

“You know, you haven't had much sleep,” Dorian said. “Not on the trip there or back.”

“I don't want to leave you, though,” Adaar replied. He tucked his legs up to his chest and rested his chin on his knees. “I... could I stay here a little longer?”

Dorian smiled. “Of course you can.”

Adaar's eyes rested on the marks on Dorian's arm. “He burned you before?”

“Trevelyan hates it when people contradict him in public,” said Dorian with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I'm not the only one. He burned Sera as well. I don't know how many people he tried to control that way, but I have my suspicions.”

“But that's terrible. Didn't anyone try to stop him?” Adaar asked.

Dorian sighed. “And do what? He's the only chance they have of closing the Breach. He controls the Inquisition, and has the backing of many foreign powers. It's not a secret that he enforces his authority with violence.”

Adaar didn't respond to that, instead sighing heavily.

“You've certainly been taking all this very personally,” Dorian said, meaning to sound casual and lighthearted.

“It's terrible,” Adaar said vehemently, face contorted. “All these horrible things and you take it in stride because I know you, and you shouldn't. You don't deserve any of this. You're such an amazing, wonderful, brilliant man, and the fact that you've had all this happen to you is unacceptable.”

Dorian was taken aback by his outburst. “I didn't know you felt this strongly.”

Adaar crossed the room to kneel at Dorian's bedside. “I'll always feel like this,” he told Dorian. “Because you've already had so many awful things happen to you even before this. So you shouldn't have to put up with a horrible man like Trevelyan after dealing with your horrible father and Tevinter's horrible attitude.”

With that, Adaar carefully adjusted a few of Dorian's blankets, running his carefully manicured claws down one of the furs. Both he and Dorian were at a lack for words, the moment stretching out between them.

“I should go,” Adaar said, standing and walking to the door. He turned back for a moment. “Just... rest and heal up.”

With that, Adaar was gone, and Dorian was left with his own thoughts.

  
  


Of course, at some point, Cole was bound to show up.

Honestly, Dorian felt more surprised that he hadn't appeared earlier.

“Varric told me to leave you alone so you can get used to this world,” Cole said, perching on the same chair that Adaar had occupied earlier.

Dorian hummed. “How kind of him. Perhaps I should send him flowers.”

“It would be worse if you were the same as the other Dorian,” Cole went on, brow furrowed in thought. “Because then you just wouldn't remember, and that would be a different kind of hurt. This way they know. Replace old sad memories with new ones. I think.”

“Well, it's not like this situation is common in any sense,” Dorian said. “I doubt anyone can call themselves experts in this manner.”

Cole tilted his head to the side, as though listening. “You should go listen by the War Room,” he said, then promptly disappeared.

Dorian sighed heavily. Of course. Nice of Cole to drop by, at least.

He wasn't technically supposed to be up for a couple more days, but Dorian hardly let such things stop him before. He made sure to make himself presentable, then made his way toward the War Room.

He could have just been out for a walk, getting some fresh air, if anyone asked. It wasn't false, as Dorian had been ready to be up and about before this. Drawing close to the War Room, he heard voices floating out into the corridor.

Dorian didn't mean to eavesdrop, but sometimes things just happened, and one could interrupt a perfectly interesting conversation, or listen in for a bit. Dorian never claimed to be a paragon of virtue, so listening in it was. Besides, Cole had told him to.

Within a few seconds, Dorian knew they were talking about him.

“I'd prefer if we could find a way that doesn't send Dorian back,” Solas said.

“We're not sending Dorian back, we just got him,” Sera said.

Leliana nodded. “Adaar is better for it. And Dorian doesn't seem unhappy with this place.”

“It would be counterproductive, certainly,” Solas added. “Then the problem is to send Trevelyan only. I've found some leads, but nothing concrete as of yet. If we could find the intruding Herald, then I could conduct better research.”

“Then we will focus our efforts on finding Trevelyan,” Leliana said. “This rogue Herald must not be allowed to create more problems for our cause.”

Dorian left quickly. This was what Cole wanted him to hear, he recognized that.

He had a place here, and he had a choice to make. Honestly, Dorian had begun to make that decision a while ago, but he had to take the time to weigh all the variables. This information made him more certain than ever.

If he could stay, if he could choose and had that power, then he would remain here.

Regardless of which world he remained in, there would be unfinished work in the other. He could choose to remain in a world that spurned him constantly, to try and reform Tevinter even when Trevelyan attempted to undermine his activity. Or he could remain in this world and take up the unfinished work of his alternate self, with better resources and people who genuinely cared. Here he could help the way he originally wanted to help, standing with the Inquisition.

Sera would miss him. Either Sera would miss him.

Perhaps Dorian ought to spend more time with the deciding factor.

Adaar had holed up in his rooms, something that people seemed to agree was a semi-regular occurrence. From what Dorian had observed, Adaar was either out talking to everyone in Skyhold, or in meetings and in his rooms. When Adaar hadn't gone out on a mission, that was.

Once again, Dorian found himself lamenting the amount of stairs leading up to Adaar's quarters. The man must be a mountain goat to traverse the stairway multiple times a day.

The door was open, so Dorian didn't bother knocking. He did bother shutting the door behind him.

Adaar sat at the desk, massaging the base of his horns. He'd removed the engraved metal caps, and Dorian blinked at the sight. Aside from it being unusual, both horns had their ends broken off, uneven and without the smooth edges that came with an old injury. He raised his head as Dorian entered the room, and his hands went to the caps on his desk before reluctantly leaving them there.

“The door was open,” Dorian said. “I apologize for the intrusion.”

“It's all right,” Adaar replied. “I shouldn't be so jumpy. I mean, it's not a big deal. Everyone around here knows anyways.”

“Knows what?”

Adaar ran one hand over the shorter of the two horns, fingering the end of it. “When I fell down that mineshaft after Haven, they broke off. I'm still self-conscious about them. Josephine had them commissioned for me when she found out. Same shape as they used to be.”

“Well, either way, I find them quite elegant,” Dorian said. “At least with the caps you can exchange them to suit the occasion.”

“Right?” Adaar said, face lighting up. “It's not so bad. I'm still not used to it, though.”

“And you have a marvelous story about how you acquired them,” Dorian added.

Adaar fidgeted with one of the caps. “I've met other Vashoth and Tal-Vashoth with damaged horns. It's especially common among mercenaries. I suppose I just hoped I'd avoid that. Call it vanity, I guess.”

Dorian laughed. “Oh, well, I wouldn't know anything about that! Truly we have nothing in common except for our ravishing good looks and tendency to get involved in ridiculously improbable magics.”

Adaar chuckled. He stood and walked around the desk to stand in front of Dorian, leaving the caps where they were.

“So, what brings you up here?” Adaar asked, sounding hopeful.

“Ah, yes,” Dorian said, attempting to regain order over his thoughts.

Dorian always had to look up to Adaar, to see the expressions that he wore so openly. He pressed his hand to the side of Adaar's face, a well of emotion rising in his chest.

“I find myself quite at odds here,” Dorian said, with a smile. “Here you are, charming and knowing almost everything about me, and I find myself incapable of resisting.”

Adaar flushed, and leaned into Dorian's touch. “You can ask me anything, and I will tell you. Only fair, after all,” he said, his hand covering Dorian's own.

“Questions, questions,” Dorian said, leaning in. “I must conduct my own study. Hardly fair, really, to rely on another's research.”

So he pressed his lips up to Adaar's. Dorian felt Adaar melt into him, like a starving man into a feast. Adaar kissed as though Dorian was all he ever wanted, as though kissing him was everything in the world and nothing else existed.

No one had ever kissed Dorian like this.

Dorian managed to pull back after a few minutes, already feeling his pulse race dangerously. He could feel a smile spreading across his face, slow and satisfied.

“ _Well_ ,” Dorian said, a heat rising to his cheeks.

Adaar had his arms wrapped around Dorian, and he chuckled, placing his forehead against Dorian's hair. “Do you need to do more research?”

“I should say I do,” Dorian replied, his smile growing substantially more saucy. “Any good study should be thoroughly pursued.”

Adaar leaned back a bit, his head tilted to the side as though looking at Dorian in a slightly different light. The fond expression on his face did not fade or change, but Dorian had the distinct feeling that Adaar was working on information that Dorian had not given him.

Or had given him previously.

“Maybe we should take things slowly?” Adaar asked, gathering Dorian's hands in his own and pressing his lips to them. “Everything's a bit overwhelming, for everyone, I think.”

The way Adaar spoke made Dorian think that perhaps last time, Adaar didn't take things quite as slowly.

“I suppose it is,” said Dorian after a pause.

“And you're not supposed to be up for another day or so,” Adaar continued, his brow furrowing as he remembered.

Dorian wiggled his fingers at him, hands still trapped in Adaar's grasp. “Yes, I do remember someone saying something about that. Now, whether or not I intend to follow said guidelines, that's an entire different matter.”

Adaar chuckled. “I guess I can't blame you. I've never been one for sitting still too long either.”

Dorian didn't want to admit it, but he _was_ a little tired. All those stairs were beyond reason. “I think I'll go rest in the library,” Dorian told him, and Adaar took a small step back.

“Don't push yourself too much, at least,” Adaar said. “I have to finish up some more reports, but...”

Dorian raised an eyebrow at his sudden silence. “Yes?”

Adaar flushed. “Would you like to have dinner tonight with me? Here?”

“I'd adore that,” Dorian said. He leaned forward and pressed another kiss to Adaar's lips. “I'll see you later, then.”

With a small, happy hum from Adaar, Dorian left.

He'd done what he set out to do, and he felt good about it. This... thing with Adaar, it felt right, and it was something for himself that he could enjoy. What an odd feeling.

Taking the stairs down was far easier than the stairs up, so he wasn't much out of breath by the time he got to the Library, though he still had the desire to just sit for a while.

He found Leliana and Solas in deep conversation.

“Ah, Dorian,” Solas said, raising an eyebrow. “I'm surprised you're up and about.”

Dorian waved a hand. “I found it unbearably dull in my quarters. I'm not entirely certain what anyone expects when I have so much reading to do.”

Solas tilted his head at Leliana. “Well, we feel we may have discovered the answer to one mystery, at least.”

“You know, back when I was travelling with the Hero of Ferelden, we stayed in Orzammar for a time,” Leliana said, tapping a finger against her cheek. “We helped this man find some of his escaped nugs, and he gifted me one in return. Some friends of mine also wanted nugs, so he started up an export business. After that, nugs became more and more frequent around Thedas.”

“So it's the Hero of Fereldan's fault? I suppose it's nice to have someone to blame,” Dorian said. “All because of a kind gesture.”

“The Hero always was a bleeding heart,” Leliana agreed, though she sounded so fond and entirely unlike the Leliana that Dorian knew that he had to take a moment to appreciate it. “I do miss her.”

“Did she die?” Dorian asked.

“Yes, the ultimate sacrifice,” Leliana said. “The only way to stop the Blight.”

Dorian hummed. “Odd. The Warden survived in our world. In fact, she married Alistair and currently rules Ferelden. She was extremely put out at literally everything Trevelyan did. If it weren't for all those pesky rifts, I imagine she'd had him arrested ages ago.”

“How is that possible?” Leliana asked. “That the Warden survived?”

“I have no idea,” Dorian said. “I'm sure the other version of you knows. It's a shame you can't exchange information.”

Leliana sighed heavily. “I will admit, I am extremely curious about your world. Not in any respect that I'd want to live there, but the idea is intriguing.”

“Well,” Dorian said, rubbing at his temples. “I think I'll get to my reading.”

They nodded, and left Dorian to settle in his nook, a gloriously tall pile of books within easy reach of his armchair.

In the warmth of the library, a ball of happiness glowing in his chest, Dorian felt a peace he hadn't known in ages. He skimmed through the copy of _Tale of the Champion_ he'd found in his quarters, the first edition. The tone of the book felt more lighthearted than the version he'd read, and he found himself enjoying the flow of the story.

Also, he found himself admiring this Fenris character. The man would definitely rip out Dorian's heart the second he met him, but if there'd ever been an example of how Dorian's countrymen ruined everything they touched, then this was it.

Dorian wasn't sure how long he'd read, but a sudden, piercing headache came over him. He closed his eyes, rubbing at his temples. The headache disappeared just as soon as it arrived, and he shook his head to clear it.

Perhaps it was time to take a break. He'd made a few mental notes of things to reference, all in books Solas had collected for their research.

Dorian stood and leaned over the railing, looking into Solas's workspace.

“Solas, do you have those books on the history of Kirkwall?” he asked, raising his book.

Solas's head whipped toward him, eyes going wide. His paintbrush slipped from his fingers, and Dorian felt his blood freeze.

The murals were not the murals from Adaar's world. These were the murals from Trevelyan's. At the expression on Solas's face, Dorian had simply appeared in the library, out of nowhere.

Dorian couldn't breathe. It felt as though something had ripped his heart out of his chest. It wasn't fair. He looked back over his shoulder at his nook, just realizing the fine layer of dust on his books and research. He tried to wrangle thoughts together, failed. Tried to focus on something, _anything_ , and failed.

It wasn't fair.

It wasn't _fair_.

Movement from above jolted Dorian out of his thoughts, and he stepped back from the railing, backing up into his nook. Leliana landed without a sound in front of him, her eyes a thunderstorm of barely-contained wrath.

“Dorian, where is the Inquisitor?”

 


End file.
